Something About You

Nine. November, 2009.

**before you begin, please know that this chapter contains something vaguely resembling smut!**

It happens a year to the day after their first kiss.

They don't plan it that way, don't set it up to be some special, monumental occasion. It's more of a coincidence than anything else, a moment of heat in Isla's bedroom that neither of them bother to diffuse, that neither of them pull away from.

Her bedroom is a castle compared to Niall's: a full sized bed with an iron slat headboard, cushy pillows, an impossibly soft duvet. There's a record player on her dresser and Niall's brought over his battered copy of O by Damien Rice for them to listen through. Isla's got this yellow fuzzy blanket slung over the foot of the bed, and warm, golden fairy lights woven through the headboard. The other lights in the room are off and her parents are out for dinner. Downstairs, Púca is asleep on the couch and Isla's older sister, Erin, is out with her friends, too. There's no one in the world but them, and there's no reason to stop when Niall slides his hands up under Isla's jumper to take it off. There's no reason to stop when she tugs on the bottom of his shirt, either. No reason to stop when she fumbles the button on his jeans, and still no reason to stop when he does the same to her.

This is new, but they've been here before. They've explored with touches and kisses and Niall's felt her shake underneath him before, felt her gasp over and over and over again until she can't anymore. They both knew they'd find themselves here soon.

With Isla, he's not scared. It's easy: finding the condom Mully gave him a few weeks ago when he learned Niall and Isla still hadn't gone all the way, and figuring out how to get it open. It's easy: finding a position that's comfortable for Isla, one where they can see each other, without too much of a stretch. It's easy: the rest of it. With Isla, it's easy.

When it's over, Niall feels like he could die.

His friends have said a lot of things about sex—Mully and Emilia have been at it for ages, and sometimes, Niall thinks, Mully can't remember how to talk about anything else—but he can't remember anyone talking about how vulnerable it feels. He can't remember anyone mentioning what it feels like to be so physically so close to the most important person in your life. He can't remember anyone talking about wanting to bury himself inside, in every sense of the word, for the rest of his life.

Isla curls up against his side and lays her head on his chest and traces patterns over his lower stomach, the soft hint of abs underneath his tummy. Earlier she'd traced them with her tongue and he can't think about it without losing his head, without a whimper rising up in the back of his throat. Lips pressed to his chest, Isla giggles.

'What?' He asks, but he's already giggling too. He can't help himself around her.

'Just thinking,' Isla looks up at him, big brown eyes, bare shoulders, freckles down her back. He thinks about how she sounded earlier, gasping his name, closing her eyes. He wants it all framed. 'Remember when we first kissed?'

'Hmm,' Niall feigns thoughtfulness, furrows his brow, racks his brain. Isla's laughing, shaking in his arms from a joke that's not even that funny but Niall feels it too, the levity in the air, the high of being together. 'I think I do, yeah.'

'Do you remember what you said afterward?' She reaches up, gently drags her fingers through his hair. He just bleached it again last week and it's coarse and a little too light.

'No,' he keens, presses his head insistently into her hand. 'I genuinely do not.'

'Should I be offended? Christ, you're like a cat.' Isla scritches at his scalp and he hums.

'No, the opposite,' Niall tilts his head a little, and Isla's hand follows. 'I was a little too distracted to remember what I said, petal. I'm sure it was something stupid, though.'

'You asked if we could do it again sometime.'

'Ugh, God,' Niall groans, hands coming up to cover his face. 'That really is stupid.'

'I thought it was cute,' Isla says, but she's giggling. She wraps her hand around his wrists and tugs gently, just enough to get him to move them away from his face. When she leans down for a kiss, Niall pulls her so her body presses to his, both of them still without clothes. He likes feeling her like this.

'You're just taking pity on me.'

'Am not,' Isla presses her hips down and it's enough, embarrassingly, to make Niall hiss. 'I said, I was thinking.'

'And what,' Niall lets one of his hands wander down from where it had been cupping the back of Isla's head. 'Were you thinking about, lover?'

'I was thinking you were right. We definitely should do that again.'