Tell Me*

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Summary: My take on what Harry is like after a show when he's high on adrenaline and high on you.

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If you don't love me now, you will never love me again.

I can still hear you saying you will never break the chain.

The lights pop as he punches his fist to the beat of the drums. He's on fire, but when is he not? From where you're sitting, you can see his cheekbones glistening with his suit jacket. Beautiful and sparkly, just like his soul. The pink jacket suits him. The gold details matching the pin strip down the sides of his black trousers accentuating the golden colors in his skin. Just like the golden colors in his heart. It's like his warmth is exploding out of him and into the crowd. Spewing his love and beauty everywhere. Everyone in this room is just trying to take it all in, absorb as much of him as they can while they have him. Most of all, you.

"London, I've got you for five more minutes." His hand raises into the air, his palm large and inviting, just like the rest of him.

"If you have been sitting down this whole time, it is no problem. If you haven't been dancing so far, that's no problem. If you have not been singing so far, that is no problem." He holds everyones attention while he speaks like you're having a one on one conversation with him. "But for the next five minutes, I need you singing. For the next five minutes, I need you dancing. For the next five minutes, I need you going absolutely crazy. Okay?"

His right hand is reaching out to the crowd. Reaching for them just like they reach for him, wanting to be fully immersed in the moment together. "Is there anybody out there? It's only five minutes, let's go!" And then he's off, punching his fists into the air, belting the words like he's using the last breaths he's ever going to take.

The chain will keep us together,

The chain will keep us together,

The chain will keep us together,

The chain will keep us together.

The guitar riffs, the drums, the lights. He's skipping from one side of the stage to the other. Kissing his fingers to the crowd like they're an old friend he hasn't seen in a while. He's bowing down to them like they are his royalty. They are in a way. He has always had an uncanny love and respect for his fans. That's just one of the things that makes him special. How can someone make an arena as big as the O2, holding 20,000 people, feel intimate? Just another thing to add to the list.

He has rainbow flags that he's throwing out to them. More kisses. He gives them all the kisses they want because that's one of the ways he shows his love. You would know.

The sexy beat of the drums you've come to know so well starts. He's saying his thank you's to "each and every one of you for coming tonight" when he catches a rose mid air that came flying straight towards his face. The room gets even louder. There is so much energy and hype buzzing around you all.

You can't peel your eyes away from him. He's so magnetic, speaking to the people he can see, thanking them for spending the night with him. It's endearing and sweet. He's enjoyed himself just as much as they have. If you're not mistaken, he maybe even enjoyed himself a little more judging by the bulge he's sporting in those trousers.

Everything is getting more intense. The music, the lights, him. He walks past his mic stand once more to blow kisses to your side of the arena. His eyes are scanning the crowd and you know what he's looking for. You start to feel warm while you wait for it, knowing his eyes would inevitably lock with yours. When they finally do, it's as if time stills for just a moment. Stuck in this place of being so proud of him while simultaneously wanting to get him off.

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