Gunrunners // A Harry Styles AU

4. The Origin of SW16

Sunday 20th January

Nothing can be heard but the sound of the calming rain outside. It's a contrast to what it has been recently; no longer incessant, blinding and harsh, blurring everything as if the world were a damp oil painting. No, this rain is soft; subtle as it lightly patters against the window. It claps on the hedges outside, and the pebbles and the roof of Harry's car, but it's soothing. It brings a peace that neither I nor Harry have felt for the longest time.

I'm lying on my side facing the wall closest to me, the sheets of Harry's bed covering me only up to my hips, and the rest of my body is bare and naked to the room. My left arm has a loose hold on the side of the mattress while my right is wedged under the pillow, and in my half-conscious state, I'm only vaguely aware of the downpour outside.

Too preoccupied in a daze of nothing other than bliss, I'm completely unaware of Harry watching me to my left. He'd woken only moments before, and having been facing the same direction as me, my peaceful frame was the first thing he'd seen. Not quite ready to disturb me just yet, he takes a moment to admire my body without having me berate him for it so obviously.

He thinks back to night previous - how it had gone from being an absolute disaster to nothing but wonderful. It wasn't very often Harry found himself enamoured with someone, and yet with me he just couldn't help but absolutely melt. He'd probably do anything I asked of him, especially if it meant he got to see me like this, and the way he had last night, more often.

Unable to keep his hands to himself much longer, Harry slides closer to me, his chest grazing against my back while his hand takes a light hold of my waist. When I don't stir, he rests his chin on my shoulder and brushes his lips against the side of my face - just along my jaw.

A soft and high hum passes through my lips from the slightly ticklish sensation, and I automatically wriggle where I lie. Realising I'm not going to get very far when I'm immediately greeted with Harry's broad frame, I drag my left hand across the mattress to where his hand holds my waist.

"Morning." He whispers softly, his right arm sneaking under the curve of my waist between the bed.

A content sigh graces my lips, and struggling and admittedly reluctant to open my eyes yet, I turn my head in search of his lips. With a fleeting peck to the corner of my mouth, he claims my lips for his as if they were no longer mine to keep; fervent yet tender, like he's desperate but needs to take extra care. He's eager though, his tongue already tracing along my upper lip, and I'm reaching my left hand to rest against his cheek; encouraging.

Clearly Harry understands, because his right hand reaches around my middle to cup my breast, and his thumb begins grazing over my pebbling nipple. It's apparent suddenly that his dick is getting stiff as it pokes me awkwardly between my arse cheeks. Allowing myself at least a moment longer to wake up a bit more, we continue as we are - with Harry's tongue in my mouth and his growing length getting harder with each second against my back.

Feeling like I've tortured him enough, I gently nudge backwards into him as a sign of my readiness. He moans quietly, suddenly snatching my top lip between his teeth as he presses his forehead against mine.

"Sorry, pet," he groans, seemingly out of frustration at himself more than anything else, "y'just... fuck, y'really get me going."

My laughter is hummed and most definitely delighted. I've never exactly been one to complain about anyone's morning wood, but Harry's? It's safe to say that it's most welcome. "What're you apologising for?"

Harry glides his hand from my waist to my arse, his lips helplessly nipping at my own still. "S'not even 'alf seven yet and m'already pokin' you with m'knob."