#DIRTYIMAGINES

In The Paint -HARRY STYLES

#DIRTYIMAGINE

In The Paint- HARRY STYLES

"That's the last one," the precious dark boy exclaims, pushing the last piece of furniture to the hallway.

You stand in an empty room encased between white walls, now making the room seem more spacious. He helps you spread out large white sheets to protect your carpet.

"What a way to spend our Saturday night, hu?" he laughs frustratedly, dropping the sheets down. "Awe come on, it's gonna be fun!" you say standing up, after adjusting the sheet in the corner. He drags in buckets of paint, varying between green, blue and a shade off of white. You stand over them, glancing with deep thoughts, trying to imagine what each color would be like. He takes a swash of each color and applies it onto the wall. You contemplate between the colors against the rest of the room as he stands behind you with crossed arms, waiting on your approval.

"I like the green!" you finally decide. "Yeah, me too." He agrees, bringing in the brushes.He notices you in an old T-shirt, completely forgetting to bring something extra. "Awe crap, I forgot to bring something old. This shirts new," Harry says picking at his graphic T-shirt. "Diva." You laugh out loud. He turns to you, surprised, with a soft laugh. "I'm a what?" "You're a diva." You assure him, grabbing the brush. "No, I'm not!" You laugh dipping it into the deep green color. He stands behind you, staring at the back of you, without your knowledge. Seconds later, you see him mimic your motives, by also grabbing a brush and starting. You smile, seeing him from the corner of your vision. "Shut up," he says with a playful voice. You bite your lip, fighting back your giggles.

He shakes his head, almost as if he's trying to act disappointed in you, but in reality, he's ready to chuckle with you, but he rather you not know that.

You spend concentrated time applying the paint to the wall, making sure it looks natural and smooth. To eliminate the silence, you hear his soft voice conjure eminent notes, breaking the rooms mute existence. You listen to the melody the angelic voice begins creating as he continues on with his chore. Your hums follow his lead, bending down to grab more paint and brush another stroke to the wall. At this time, you only have about 1/3rd of the first wall done. All that could be heard is the brushing, the melody from you both and now, the rain kicking in from outside. Continuing to brush, you look at the window and notice the drops quickly falling down the window, creating taps. Within moments, it starts getting harder.

"Should I close the window?" Harry asks, breaking the rasp filled notes. The dark gray clouds begin circling the moon, automatically making the night darker. They begin forming into a large alliance, like gray sheets of blankets dropped over the sky. "Yeah." He leans over the ledge, still holding the brush, and reaches for the spinning nozzle. The paint filled brush accidentally brushes the side of his shirt. He gasps, dropping the brush and pulls out his shirt to see the stain. You cover your mouth, trying hard not to laugh.

"I ruined my shirt! What if this doesn't go away?" He looks up at you to see you smiling hard. "You think this is funny?" You nod, bursting into giggles. "Oh my god! You're such a diva!" "No, stop laughing! It's not funny!" You disobey him and continue laughing, making the look on his face that much funnier. He watches you laugh, nodding with an upset face. No way are you telling him how cute you think he looks when upset. Especially when he gets a tiny crinkle in his nose, making his cheeks lift. It's like a cute puppy! And with that thought, you continue laughing. He whines, now with a soft smile. "Stop!" You try to stop yourself. "Okay, okay. I think I'm done." You wipe the tear off your cheek.

"What should I do?" "Harry, I'll clean it for you. I'm sure it's gonna come out." He sighs, pulling off the shirt, leaving him in only a cap and jeans. You watch the black fabric slide off his creamy tan skin, the light glowing against the natural rich tone of his back and muscle in his arms contract as he throws the shirt over the furniture to the hallway. As silly as the thought may seem, you refuse to admit to him how much of a turn on that actually is. God, he looks good.