I'm putting the author's note first for this one. I had nothing to do today lmao so I wrote this:) It's my favorite chapter so far I think. For real this time tho, I won't update until next week. This is a good place to leave off, you'll see ;) And I'm sorry if what you want doesn't happen it's not my problem
I'm hoping to finish this story by my birthday as a gift to myself!!
oh yeah comment & vote, angels
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Harry found peace in fighting; he had been doing it for nearly five years, and the feeling that came from it was like a drug to him. But he suddenly stopped as soon as he started to go to the gym with Jackson nightly. The first day he took Clara's younger brother to the gym in attempt to 'train' him, Harry found that he was just as annoying as she had claimed. He didn't listen very well to Harry's instructions, partly because he was too busy gawking at the women jogging on the treadmills dressed in tight workout clothes, and partly because his ego made him think that he could do whatever kick or punch Harry was trying to show him without any guidance. Why did he even want my help then? Harry had gotten so infuriated that first night that by the time he left, he had relieved all of his anger on the stupid teenager and the punching bag and... he felt surprisingly good. After that, Harry just didn't have an urge to fight anymore, or the time. Clara wasn't too fond of the idea of sharing Harry with her brother but it was better than worrying about his safety.
Ray definitely wasn't fond of it. Harry went to that street corner which he had become so familiar with one Tuesday night to clear things up with his old boss, the man who indirectly had helped him through the past years.
"This is the last time I'm coming here," he informed him, hands slung in the pockets of his hoodie. Harry watched as the end of his cigarette glowed with life and then the stick was pulled out of his mouth so a pool of smoke could flood the air between them.
"Last time you're coming here?" Ray arched a thick brow and put a hand on his stomach. "That's not a funny joke, Styles."
"It's not a joke."
The aging man looked at him, eyes narrowing, and Harry stared into the dark irises and saw nothing but an endless life of bitter cigarettes and illegally earned money. There was no peace or self-acceptance in his eyes and Harry wanted to throw up at the sight of it.
"Huh," Ray took another drag. "That's the fastest anyone has ever went from my favorite person, to my least favorite. What was that? Half a second? Incredible." He had let out a gravelly laugh and Harry didn't have anything else left to say to the person he prayed he wouldn't someday become.
The snowfall was replaced with heavy rain during the last week of January. On the night that the water was beating down at record quantities, Clara got a call from Liam as she was on her way over to Harry's house. She hadn't seen much of him for the past week because she was busy searching for job openings during the day, and then Harry was busy slamming his fists against a punching bag and yelling at her brother at night.
"Make it quick, I'm driving," Clara answered the phone. She stuck it between her shoulder and ear while keeping both of her hands on the steering wheel.
"I was just wondering if you're free to come over and watch movies tonight," Liam replied smoothly. Clara took a moment to respond as she was too busy scowling at the car next to her for getting in her lane without warning. The rain was coming down hard against the window shield, large droplets thudding and pattering and making her mind feel jumbled.
"Movies?" Clara repeated once she had safely turned the corner. "Oh, right. Yeah, I can come over in an hour or two. See you then." She hung up on him and tossed her cellphone to the seat beside her, eager to end the call so her poor ability to focus didn't cause her to swerve into one of the tall aspens at the side of the road. When she pulled up by the curb in front of Harry's house, she climbed to the back seat and rummaged around through the trunk before grasping onto the rain jacket she kept there for emergencies. Clara shrugged it on her shoulders and put the hood over her hair (She had spent over an hour straightening it. There was no way she was going to let the January rains waste her efforts).
She jogged to the front door and pounded her fist against the wood. If there was one thing Clara hated more than being cold, it was being wet.
Clara sucked in a sharp breath when the door opened a minute later. Harry stood before her with bloodshot eyes and a fresh smear of red across his white shirt. How many times was he going to greet her with bloodied hands? The breath that had lodged into her throat at the sight of him blew from her parted lips when she peered past Harry and noticed the multiple holes in the walls and the broken lamp at the foot of the couch, shattered from the force he had used to thrash it out of anger. Moisture welled up in her eyes and her heart plummeted as the worst scenarios invaded her mind on their own accord. Something had happened with his father, that much she knew.
"Harry," her voice was drowned out by the intense thrumming of the rain. He stepped to the side to allow her room to walk into the house. The first thing Clara did was clean up his wounds; she gently grabbed his forearm and guided him to the bathroom in silence. She had him sit on the counter while she wrapped gauze around his knuckles just as she had done for him a month ago.
Then she took him to his bedroom and they laid down together. Clara beckoned for him to lift up his arms once he was sitting against the pillows, and Harry complied. He raised his arms and allowed her to discard the dirty shirt. She started to scoot off the bed to retrieve a clean one for him to put on, but Harry reached for her and pulled her to his bare chest before her feet could even touch the floor. Clara sighed and listened to his heart thudding in her ear as she rested her head right over one of the swallows inked into his skin.
"They won't let him come home this time," Harry spoke without her having to ask what had happened. Clara's chest became tight and she peered up at him, her gaze meeting the underside of his chin rather than his face. Harry tucked his chin inwards to look down at her and finally their eyes met; the redness and glossiness of his twin emeralds informed Clara that he had been crying. She thought back to when he had told her not to cry over things you can't control. She wanted to repeat the words to him, but they were bullshit. The things you can't control in life are always the toughest to swallow.
"Why not?" she whispered after a few beats of only the rain sounding through the room. Harry breathed through his flared nostrils and his arm gripped her waist, weighing her down against his body. He looked up at the ceiling and shrugged.
"Because he's dying."
"Harry, you don't know that-"
"I do know that. They won't say it but everyone knows it."
Clara gnawed at the inside of her cheek and sat up to could cup his face in her hands. His skin felt warm under her fingertips, hot even. His cheeks were stained from the dried tears and she leaned down to kiss both of them, tasting the salinity as it filled the cracks in her lips. Harry's hands went to the small of her back and he played with the hem of her shirt, a way to distract himself from the throbbing in his head; he was getting a fever.
"I think I know what you need." Clara smiled softly and pulled away, brushing the hair off his damp forehead. "Just rest here, okay? I'll be right back."
He tried to latch onto her wrist as she climbed off the bed, but Clara managed to flee his embrace without difficulty. She padded to the kitchen and tried to remember her way around the cupboards as she put a pot on the stove. Her mother used to always make her soup on rainy days, or whenever her head was hurting; Harry was dealing with both at the same time. Clara tried to keep a smile on her face as she filled the pot with all the ingredients and stirred it slowly. Deep down, she knew Harry was right about his dad. The thought of not being able to see Des's welcoming eyes or listen to his humorous stories made her heart crack, but she had to be strong for him. That's what you do when you care about someone, right? You save your tears for when you're alone in your shower, so you can give them your best smile and tell them that everything is going to be alright. You lie to them because the truth is the last thing they want to hear.
Once the soup was done, Clara poured two ladles-full into a bowl and returned to his room. Harry had pulled the sheets over his body and was trembling slightly as she sat on the edge of the bed beside him. She placed the bowl on the bedside table and had him lift his head against the pillow so she could bring the spoon to his lips.
"I can do it," he mumbled, grabbing the spoon from her hand. Clara ignored his attitude and watched him eat. He didn't look at her and she could sense his mind slipping into a place far from where they were. When he finished and set the bowl back on the table, he spoke, his voice vacant.
"This is it, isn't it?" Harry laid back down and rested his hands on his stomach. "This is the part where everyone, even you, says he won't leave but he does."
Clara didn't respond. She laid with him for over an hour, letting his fingers run over her spine and occasionally graze over the curve of her bum. Once his breathing turned shallow, Clara slipped from the bed and sponged a kiss to his forehead before leaving. The rain was still merciless as she drove to Liam's house, and it encouraged the tears that threatened to seep from her eyes. She cried a little bit but managed to conceal the evidence when she got to her friend's house. They watched movies together in his room with her head on his shoulder and a bowl of popcorn in his lap. Liam was the one to talk during the film, commenting on every little thing to compensate for Clara's silence; her voice had left her and her thoughts were drifting between what was on the television screen to the boy who she was painfully worried about.
If he reacted to bad news by shoving his fist into the dry wall, then how would he react when the worst inevitable came?
Harry's birthday, the first of February, was the next time they saw each other. Clara had passed by his house a few times but the lights were never on; she knew he was spending most of the day at the hospital with his dad, and she was actually glad for it because it gave her more time to plan her surprise. It also gave her time to rekindle her friendship with Liam; they hung out for days in a row, falling back into the same comfortable place where they had left off. She would catch him staring at her a little bit too long sometimes, and once when she had fallen asleep at his house, she swore she heard him whisper something in her ear along the lines of 'I will make things right', but she didn't dwell on it. It was good to have someone other than Harry in her life so Clara wasn't too overwhelmed by the love she knew she felt for him.
Harry spent the morning of his birthday with his father. They had supplied a pretty decent breakfast at the hospital, a simple french toast with frozen blueberries on top along with powder orange juice. Des had even managed to get him a cupcake; he told one of the nurses (the one that clearly had the hots for him) that it was his son's birthday and her face had lit up. She quickly hurried to the kitchen and Harry tried not to laugh when she returned with a chocolate cupcake with a singular candle stuck in it. They were meant for the patients but the nurse had pulled a few strings to please Des.
When Harry returned home, there was a light drizzle of rain that peppered his exposed skin. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve his keys and opened the door. The interior of the house was flooded with darkness, so he kicked off his boots and then blindly flicked on the lights.
"SURPRISE!"
He jumped slightly from the shrill sound of her voice and stumbled back against the wall. Harry watched as Clara struggled to crawl out from under the dining table, huffing to herself and pushing the hair away from her face. She finally stood to her feet and beamed at him, her grin spreading from ear to ear.
"Happy birthday," she tucked her hair behind her ear and padded over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Harry furrowed his eyebrows and glanced at the table where a homemade cake decorated with pearls of vanilla frosting stood at the center, and then two gifts, both wrapped in shiny blue paper, were waiting just for him. Then his eyes landed on a tall bottle of what looked to be champagne.
"How did you know it's my birthday?" He raised an eyebrow and placed his hands on her hips, peering down at her illuminated face, the affection and joy dancing around amid the hazel. "And why were you underneath the table?"
"It was my hiding spot so I could surprise you," Clara's cheeks flushed. "It wasn't a very good one, I suppose. And your dad told me. I went to visit him the other day."
"Without me?"
"Yeah," she shrugged and dropped her arms to her sides. She grabbed his hand, slotted her fingers between his and tugged him towards the table. With a closer look at the cake, Harry noticed that the frosting work was sloppy and there was a blue 23 in the middle of it, but the two looked more like a 'Z' written by a five year old.
"Cake decorating isn't really my thing," Clara smiled sheepishly and pulled out a chair for him to sit down. "I know you like chocolate more but I like vanilla, so the cake is chocolate and the icing is vanilla. That way we're both happy." She twirled her fingers together and watched him stare at the cake for a lingering moment. Her heart raced in her chest, eager for his approval as always.
"I can't believe you did this for me," he frowned, but when he looked up and saw that her face had fallen drastically, he backtracked. "I mean, I'm just surprised, is all. That's what you wanted, right? To surprise me?"
Her smile returned and she nodded her head. "Yeah, that's what I wanted."
Harry's insides felt warm with a feeling he didn't quite comprehend, but it made him smile back at her. Teeth sunk in his lip, he sat down in the chair she had pulled out and then grasped her hips, eliciting a squeal to tumble from her mouth as she was dragged down onto his lap. Clara giggled and her arms naturally hooked around his broad shoulders.
"What first?" Harry asked her, his hands cupping her bum and squeezing. Clara was happily surprised and grateful for the contrast in his mood from the last time she had seen him; a burst of pride swelled in her at the thought that his smile was because of her doing. She had managed to make the pain in his eyes fade, even if it was just for the time being.
"How about your presents?" she suggested, then twisted her torso so she remained secure in his lap while stretching her arm to grab the first gift. It was the larger box, but it felt light in his hands when she gave it to him. Harry hadn't received a gift from anyone for his birthday or for Christmas other than his father; there just wasn't anyone in his life who cared enough. His last girlfriend had been around for his birthday, but she wasn't aware of the date so they didn't do anything together for it. Not that he would have wanted to, anyway.
As Harry tore open the paper, he felt like a child, not able to fight back the dimples that popped into his cheeks. Plain cardboard stared back at him and he glanced at Clara in confusion before ripping open the flaps of the box and taking out what was inside. Bubbling laughter came from the girl on his lap as he held up an apron, with the image of a nude male body printed on it. Harry's eyes widened for a brief moment and the sight of his surprised and somewhat put off expression made Clara bury her face in his neck, her giggles not letting up.
"You think this is hilarious, huh?" Harry couldn't help but smile at her child-like sense of humor as he folded the apron and set it on the table.
"You have to wear it for me," Clara pulled away from the crevice of his neck and wiped her eyes where her laughter had invited moisture to accumulate.
"Not now," he blushed and shook his head. Not ever, he wanted to say. "I don't understand the point of that thing when I could just be naked, instead."
Clara slanted an eyebrow. "Oh? You would like that, huh? Cooking naked with me."
"Only if you're naked, too."
Clara laughed softly again and leaned down to give his lips a lingering peck. What were they doing? Flirting? She didn't know what exactly it was but she absolutely loved this side of Harry and she prayed it would stick around for the rest of the evening.
She turned around again to grab the remaining gift. "This one is from your dad and me," she spoke gently, her eyes flickering to Harry at the mention of his father. He simply nodded his head and took the small box from her hands. Clara watched him tear open the gift paper and furrow his eyebrows at the sight of what was underneath.
"A phone?" He looked at the device caged in the plastic box, recognizing that it was the same kind that Clara owned. He looked up at her and she pointed her fingertip to the device in his hands.
"It's the rose gold one. I know you probably just wanted black, but I thought you needed a little color in your life."
Harry turned the box over in his grasp and began to sway his head slowly. "Clara... This is too much." He didn't even have a service plan. Did she pay for all of that, too?
"It's not just from me," she reminded him, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. "I payed for only like half of it. And I picked it out. That's all. Just be grateful, will you?" She smiled and playfully nudged her nose against his cheek.
"I don't even need a phone," Harry argued weakly. The longer he looked at it, the more he liked it.
"Yes you do, shut up. Now you can call me whenever you want to talk, or you can send me a text whenever you're bored or..." Clara slithered her hand down to his groin and squeezed. "When you're lonely. I've already put my number in for you."
Harry sucked in a breath and put the box on the table beside the apron. He shook his head in disbelief and then brought his hand to her cheek, drawing her face closer to his so he could plant a sweet kiss to her lips. "Thank you, Clara," he murmured. "You really didn't have to."
"But I wanted to," she whispered back, tapping the pad of her pointer against the tip of his nose and then pulling away. Her hair fell over her face and the glow from the light above the dining table made her golden skin appear lustrous and radiating with something he wished to see in his own reflection. Harry gravitated back towards her lips, leaning forward, but she pushed at his shoulder and threw her head back, laughing.
"Not yet," she smirked and reached for the bottle of champagne. "Let's crack this open first." She twisted off the cap and placed it on the table as she maneuvered in his lap so she could grab the glasses she had gotten out for them. The movement of her hips caused Harry to groan audibly, his jeans feeling tighter. He swore he saw a sly grin curl on Clara's lips, and knew she was doing it on purpose. Clara poured both glasses to the brim with the crisp champagne and then handed one to him.
"I don't really drink," he said flatly, staring at the clear liquid in the glass.
"Neither do I, but I thought it would be fun." She smiled and tipped her head back as she sipped from the drink, the burning liquid scorching down her throat. She grimaced at the taste on her tongue and smacked her lips together. "I think I'll just have this one glass. Good thing I made this delicious cake to get rid of the taste." She smiled again and Harry stared at her lips, which were glistening from the lingering champagne on them.
"Me, too," he agreed, blinking out of his momentary trance and taking a small sip of the drink, as well. He didn't like it at all. He really just wanted to kiss her.
Harry leaned in again and this time caught her off guard, his lips consuming hers before she could push him away. A grin spread between them and the taste of diluted alcohol was passed between their mouths as his tongue probed the opening of her lips, then snaked inside. She didn't shove at his shoulders and squirm in his lap to tease him- Clara let her fingers thread in his hair and her mouth became searing with desire that she would've blame on the champagne if it wasn't for the fact that she had already admitted to herself that she was helplessly entranced by this man and the things he could do with his tongue.
Harry was the one to break away and leave her panting for more. He kept his lips centimeters form hers as he parted them just barely in order to speak. "Cut me a slice of a cake," he surprised her by murmuring the low words. They made a shudder rake up her spine and somehow, perhaps it was the spark in his eyes, Clara knew that he didn't plan on stopping what they had yet to begin. She nodded breathlessly, took another long gulp of her champagne, and then turned around to cut him a slice of the chocolate-vanilla cake, her fingers quivering. The feel of Harry's thumbs rubbing circles over her hip bones worked as a distraction; she fumbled with the knife and the slice came out unevenly cut. She shimmied it onto a paper plate and slid it in front of him.
Clara's eyes followed his hand as he reached for a fork and took a bite. He chewed slowly, his jaw tautening, and his jugular bobbing; the man had to be doing it on purpose. She snaked her tongue over her lips and drank the rest of her champagne as he swallowed down the bite of cake.
"Sweet," he spoke, licking his lips. Clara felt her center become as wet as the muscle that had just peeped from his mouth. "It's very good."
"Thank you," Clara breathed. Suddenly, Harry dropped the fork on the table with a clank and then his hands went to the collar of her shirt, tugging it up over her head.
"What are you-"
Harry dipped his finger in the vanilla frosting and dragged it over the expanse of her chest. Clara gasped at the feeling of the of the creamy mixture on her exposed skin.
"But I know how to make it taste even better," Harry pushed his face in between her breasts and his hot mouth kissed over the skin, opened and torturous. She gasped again as his tongue collected the frosting and left behind awakened nerves that only intensified the burning in her stomach that had been ignited. Clara gripped his shoulder with one hand and the edge of the table with the other, her mouth hanging open in pleasure. He had done the same thing when they made crepes, but something about having his tongue so close to her sensitive, aching nipples made her feel like putty on his lap.
"Much better," he mumbled against her skin. He lifted his head and some of the frosting had gotten on the corners of his mouth. Clara's chest rose and fell with each labored breath that she took. The alcohol was definitely getting to her, every coherent thought slipping from her mind.
Clara let out a high pitched squeak when a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and hurled her onto the table. The paper plates and torn wrapping paper and other things fell to the floor as Harry swept his hand over the surface to clear it for themselves. Her back was pressed against the faux wood and her spine ached from the harsh contact, but the pain was buried beneath the excitement and champagne that was polluting her blood.
"Are you drunk?" She sputtered breathlessly, laughing as she watched him through hooded eyelids. Harry shoved his hand in the cake and scooped up the sweet dessert.
"Drunk on you, baby." He used his clean hand to unclasp her bra and tossed it to the floor along with everything that else that had been in their way. Clara's back arched off the table as he smeared the messy mixture of cake and frosting all over her breasts (he made sure her nipples were completely covered) and then down the length of her stomach, stopping when he got to the translucent skin that was right above the hem of her jeans. His face was void of anything other than focus; he stared down at her and the mess he had made all over her body, proud of his work.
"You better clean that up," Clara bit her lip and wiggled around in anticipation. Harry was stood between her legs, and she hooked them around his hips to lock him in place. He dragged his hand over his jaw before leaning down.
"You look delicious," he muttered, breath fanning over her flushed cheeks. Clara slipped her hand through his thick hair as he started to kiss her skin, starting at the corner of her lips. His mouth was soft and warm against her as he trailed wet kisses down to the base of her throat, where he could taste every pulse of her arteries and every heavy breath that traveled through her trachea.
When his searing tongue met her breast, Clara let out a literal whimper. He slowly licked the frosting from the supple mounds and then went to work on her nipples. He took one in his mouth while his hand splayed against the surface of the table to prop his body up over her. Clara moaned as his teeth nipped and his tongue lapped away the sweet mess, her nipple perking instantly in the warm cave of his mouth. Her abdomen became tight as her thighs shook against the table and her moans gradually increased in volume.
"Fuck, Harry." Clara tugged on his hair and he pulled up for a moment to lick the excess that coated his lips. He dipped his head back down and finished the other breast before kissing down her stomach and collecting the cake that he had smeared there. His tongue stopped when it reached the last bit of the dessert that was clinging to her skin right above her jeans. His darkened eyes flickered up to her as he gripped the hem of her jeans and ripped them down her thighs. Clara whined impatiently and kicked them off from her ankles, so she laid there on their table in just her black panties.
"Tell me what you want," he demanded, voice firm and dangerously low. She bucked her hips and swore under her ragged breath.
"Taste me," she answered vaguely.
"Where?" His hand cupped her over her panties and she moved her hips to grind against it, the moisture seeping through the thin material of her underwear.
"You know where."
Harry lowered into his knees in front of the table and gripped her soft thighs, splaying them apart. His fingers hooked in her panties and slowly dragged them down the length of her endless legs; Clara continued to squirm about, breathless and naked and so damn ready for it. She knew it was his birthday, not hers, but she never claimed not to be selfish. As soon as his tongue met her wet clit, she yelped in euphoria and her hips buckled, thighs clamping around his shoulders.
"Stay still," Harry murmured against her. His hand kept her thigh from cutting off his breathing as he began to dip his tongue along her moist folds, tasting the excitement he had given her. Clara's eyes felt heavy and she thrashed her head from side to side. The slickness from both his tongue and her cûnt caused each audible lap and suck and nip to reach her ears. Heat ballooned in the pit of her stomach and she let out a scream of his name.
Harry feasted on his second (third?) round of dessert. He dug the calloused pads of his fingers into her thighs and tasted the cream that oozed onto his tongue, sweeter than any frosting. The sound of her mewls and groans caused his already hardened côck to strain against the confinement of his jeans. He quickened the pace of his tongue to urge her into her climax, the slick muscle dipping into her entrance, getting the area prepared for him. Clara balled her hands up into tight fists, her nails scratching at her palms, and moments later she was sent into a tipsy, sublime state of pure bliss. Her pleasure coated Harry's lips and dribbled down to his chin. He stood up, wiped the back of his hand against his mouth, and then brought his hands to the zipper of his jeans, dragging it down the jagged teeth.
"You gonna fuck me now?" Clara smiled lazily and he chuckled.
"My smart girl," he praised, kicking his jeans off and then bringing his hands to his boxers. Clara let out a slurred whine and nudged her foot against his thigh.
"No. I'll do it."
Harry arched an eyebrow but let his hands fall to his sides. He watched in amusement and lust as she pressed her hands to the surface of the table and slowly lifted her body up, her lips puckered. She slipped a hand through her hair before scooting to the edge of the table, legs dangling, and reached for his underwear.
"You're so hot," she blinked up at him and fumbled with the black fabric, peeling it down over his ass and allowing his rigid côck to spring up against his beautifully carved stomach. "All mine."
"Yours?" Harry furrowed his eyebrows as though she had said something too complex for him to understand. Clara gripped his erection and he sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers cold against his warm, silk-like skin.
"Yes, mine." She thumbed the swollen tip and a bead of cum oozed from the slit. She wanted to drop to her knees and return the favor but both of them were just aching to be connected so she decided she would save it for next time. A month ago, she didn't have the courage or confidence to think of there being a next time, but now she could imagine many more times to come.
Harry stepped closer to her so the heat between their bodies intensified, the air dripping with lechery and need. But it wasn't the same need as it used to be; not need for a distraction, but just pure need for each other, in the most extensive sense. He wrapped his hand around his length and rubbed against her swollen folds, their eyes meeting. He used his other hand to raise up to her cheek, his touch soft despite the rough skin of his palm.
"If I'm yours, then you are mine."
He entered her with one swift movement of his hips, his côck slipping in all the way, deep enough for her head to loll back, dark hair reaching the surface of the table beneath her.
"I've always been yours, you bastard," she panted, feeling him begin to move. The harsh and feverish thrusting of his hips contrasted with the gentle words that had just been spoken. Clara gripped his bicep, feeling the muscles expand and contract as he kept a steady pace.
"Fuck, right there," she clamped her hand over her mouth to silence the endless string of moans, but Harry swatted it away.
"I want to hear you," he strained, the veins in his neck bulging. Clara nodded quickly and allowed the loud noises of her pleasure form on her swollen lips. Their skin smacked together and the table creaked beneath her body. Harry pushed inside her one more time before hooking his arms under her legs suddenly, and lifting her up. Their bodies stayed connected as he carried her to the wall, her thighs clamped around his torso as he resumed his merciless thrusts once her back was firmly pressed against the plaster. The last thing he wanted was his semen to get on the dining table where him and his father eat together.
"You're so goddamned tight," he hissed. One hand slammed against the wall while the other was clutching her ass to keep her pressed against him. His côck reached deeper inside her at the new angle, hitting that spot that made her very loud for him, and his swollen testicles swayed against her thigh, heightening the overwhelming sensation of it all.
"Harry! Yes, baby," Clara gasped and arched into him, her nails taking down his subtly protruding spine. "So big."
His lips found hers and they kissed deeply, hungry for each other. They had been starved for the past days and now they were binging, devouring as much as they could. Clara sucked on his bottom lip and her hands slithered down to his firm ass, finally giving it that squeeze that she been meaning to sneak in. It urged Harry to go faster, their hips slamming together and their breaths mingling as they lapped their tongues together. Clara felt the burn return to her stomach and she clenched around him.
"With me, princess," Harry instructed against her lips. He could physically feel the pain and memories of the last week seep from his pores along with his salty sweat; his climax was nearing and the sloppiness of his thrusts increased. When it hit him, he felt Clara's body stiffen and her thighs tremble. Harry groaned, burrowing his face in the dip of her shoulder while his cum filled her up in five long spurts, hot and sticky and dripping out to her thighs.
Then, he felt something against his bum. Clara, in her numb state, had yelled out his name and given a smack to his ass as she rode out her second orgasm of the night. Harry felt his eyes widen and he let her body slip down from his hold, her feet hitting the floor. She kept her arms hooked around his shoulders because she didn't trust her legs to function properly with the lingering euphoria still coursing through her blood.
"Did you just slap me...?" He looked down at her, panting quietly, and she grinned up at him, her eyes hooded.
"Yep," she leaned on the balls of her feet to kiss his lips lightly. "I just couldn't stop myself. You can return the favor, if you want."
Harry stared at this eccentric girl who claimed to be all for him; his head slowly shook side to side and he laughed through his heavy breathing.
"Next time, baby. I'll spank you until my handprint is permanently marked on your ass."
Clara's cheeks flushed as her fantasies were summoned from the drawer of her mind that she had stashed them into. She bit her lip and splayed her hand against his chest, sighing happily. Even if there were still obstacles for them to overcame, and a dreaded reality waiting for them outside the sanctuary of his warm house, Clara was content in that moment, for the first time in a long time. Her mind didn't feel jumbled, despite the lingering effects of her climax that made her feel high- on him. She felt like she could think clearly, and all that she could think of was that he was going to be it for her. She would never want anyone else.
"Happy birthday, Harry." Clara snaked her arms around his bare waist and nuzzled her face into his chest. He hugged her back after a moment, resting his chin on the top of her head and inhaling the scent of her almond shampoo.
"You're the best gift I have ever gotten," he whispered, too quiet for her to hear.
~
Harry arrived back to the house after dropping Clara off at her apartment. She hadn't taken her car there because she claimed it would have 'ruined the surprise' if he were to see it on the street. They had spent a few more hours together before she began to yawn and informed him that she had finally managed to score a job interview, which would be early the next morning. A frown had been etched onto his lips the entire drive to her flat; he really didn't want to spend the night alone again. It was when he was alone that everything began to hurt.
He was still frowning as he reached into his pocket and got out his keys. The metal clanked together, penetrating the silent neighborhood. He was completely enveloped in darkness and it made it difficult to distinguish the cold keys in his hand which all felt the same against his fingertips.
A rustling sort of sound came from behind him and he glanced over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed to see through the blanket of night; he could just barely make out a figure standing by the dead shrubs lining the yard. Harry felt his body tense and his shoulders broaden defensively. The figure didn't move.
"Can you get off my yard!" Harry called after a few moments, a confused crease forming in the skin between his brows. There was another rustling sound as the figure stepped through the shrubs, coming closer, but not close enough to allow Harry a clear view of their face. They raised their arm, it looked liked, and if he didn't know any better he would have sensed that they were directing something at his chest. Harry gripped the keys in his hand and went back to fumbling through them, but his nerves got the best of him and they tumbled from his grasp. The sound of the metal keys making contact with the concrete was drowned out by a crisp, loud sound that flooded Harry's ears and made him wince.
When he looked back up, the figure was nowhere to be seen. Harry stumbled backwards and his back met the wood of the door. His leg. An intense pain shot up his leg and his breath hitched in his throat. His back slid against the door as he sunk to the ground. His hand felt around his thigh, just above his knee, where the pain had sprouted from and was spreading all over his body- it was the intense, almost numbing kind of pain that stole his ability to breathe. When he touched the area, something warm and wet stained the palm of his hand.
Harry gasped for air. Everything felt like it was slipping away from him, his vision flooding with white that he couldn't seem to blink away. He reached into his back pocket for the phone Clara had gotten him. He choked on his own breath as he struggled to read her name on the screen and then pressed call.
It dialed and dialed and dialed in his ear before the phone slipped from his grasp, falling to the cold concrete that was now soaked with his blood.
~