About the River and Cliché | Zarry

Chapter Six

Harry was never a party animal. That kind of potential was not naturally running in his blood. However, he did have the potential to be a great imitator. That's what people said, you fake it till it's real.

Partying was not a necessary trait for a college student either. But Harry wouldn't call this stereotype a myth before he tried its taste in the flesh. So it happened, when he found himself passed out in the backseat of a limo with beer cans scattering around, shirt unbuttoned and his belt missing somewhere. He hadn't bothered to figure out where his belt had gone to, just like he hadn't been interested in the identities of the boys and girls around him.

To a curious little boy who was eager to dabble into the unknown, Liam was such a good instructor; rich kid from Los Angeles, with cool friends and fancy terms for mixology. Harry never recognized a brand mentioned by Liam, but he played it well. He played it so well that nobody believed he was actually from a random small town in southern Nevada.

Harry met this guy at Liam's 22nd birthday party. He was still sober enough to watch that dark haired boy walking straight toward his seat at the bar. The reflection of the disco ball was visible in his hazel eyes. The guy took a seat on the high chair in front of Harry, jutting his chin at Harry's empty glass.

"Do I have the pleasure to buy you a drink?" he smirked.

"What'd you do if I say no?" Harry giggled, feeling the pounding in his chest.

"You won't. So the answer is unessential anyway."

Harry laughed even louder, biting his lower lip to control the quirky sound he made while slowly getting tipsy. The heat in the pub was rising, and Harry could feel his blood boiling underneath his skin. "Are you Liam's friend?"

The stranger shrugged, knocking his finger on the bar table as he watched Harry taking his shot. "Could be, it's up to you, Curly."

"Curly?" Harry chuckled, "Well, you can call me-"

"Wow there, baby." The guy bent over, pressing his index finger on Harry's lips. "No name is required tonight. If you want to be remarkable, then you have to be creative."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry smiled. His thin shirt was getting sweaty under the temperature.

The guys traveled his finger down to Harry's collarbones, breathing beside Harry's ear. "It means I'm gonna fuck you in the restroom. Twice, from behind, if you do it well."

In the end Harry didn't even finish the shot. He was ashamed, because just like that guy said- he was so impatient. He wanted to be memorable, but not as a naive boy thirsty for a one night stand. He felt so gross and vulnerable, and the guilty pleasure burning inside wasn't helping him with the nerve.

His back was against the ice-cold wall, while the heat between his thighs was getting out of control. The guy placed his palms on Harry's hipbones, pressing his lips against Harry's bare waistline. Harry's jeans slid down to his ankles as the guy took him whole in, playing skillfully with his tongue. It was like a thunderstorm, a heart attack, and thousands of bullets dashing through his veins. Harry could already sense the pain before anything entered him. Harry panted for more air, but the whole room was about to run out of oxygen.

"You alright, baby?" The guy mumbled, teasingly. It sounded like miles away, yet it was close enough for Harry to lose everything embarrassingly quick. Harry whimpered in reply, that was the only sound he could make. He didn't want to resign himself so fast; he didn't want to resign himself to a nameless guy he just met 30 minutes ago. The more he tried to recollect his thoughts, the more hopeless he felt.

Harry tried twisting his body around, hoping to slow themselves down. But it only brought on the opposite effect. The guy pushed forward, having no sympathy for Harry's situation, which made Harry hate both of them more. It was in a hurry, despite how Harry tried to last it longer. The guy slowly pushed in deeper, biting Harry's shoulder as he let out a little groan. Harry was upset, even though he couldn't help craving for more.

"Slow...down, please..."

"Excuse me?" The guy asked delightedly, sucking Harry's earlobe for another whine from Harry's throat. "You don't like it, baby? You want me to stop?"

Harry cried out a little, angrily. "Fuck. Hell no."

Once again Harry despised himself for how easily he fell for the trap. That was the exact reaction as the guy was waiting for. It only got faster and harsher after Harry's attempt at begging. And then it began. The ecstasy was like a knife slicing down his entire body. It was so rough and painful that Harry let out a single tear down his flushed cheek. The warmth of that guy was still hanging over his skin and Harry didn't want it to vanish into the air. It was his moment. He was not ready to let it go in a bustle.

Well, but he didn't actually expect it would ever come back, not even in this way.