A LITTLE BIT DRUNK
* previously titled DRUNK WITH YOU *
After a wild night of karaoke and drinking, you’re ready for bed. But Harry has other ideas…
Mature Content: explicit language, alcohol consumption (both intoxicated, consenting adults in a loving relationship), oral sex (f receiving), spit kink, light choking, hair pulling, size kink, mommy kink & unprotected sex. For an 18+ audience only.
Word Count: 6.3k
“Get your arse up to bed, Harry!”
“Make me.”
From where he stands across from you in the kitchen, he sends you a Cheshire Cat smile. Arms behind his back. Swaying side to side in a taunting way. There’s a cheeky glint in his eye like always, but it’s cheekier than ever.
You’re as swept up in it as you normally are, but his sass and stubbornness prevents you from falling too deep. You instead tut and make moves towards him, more than ready to do what he wants if it means putting his wasted ass to sleep at what must be way past four a.m.
But upon you stumbling a tad and catching yourself on the kitchen island, because you’re just as plastered as your man, Harry starts cackling. You stand tall, scowling as he throws his head back to let the laugh out, his belly shaking and feet taking him back a step or two. You’re actually surprised he hasn’t fallen over yet. He’s a clumsy sod whenever he’s a few shots deep. Bambi on ice comes to mind.
“God, you’re so drunk!”
“Am not!” You lie pointlessly, your slurred words a dead give away.
The pair of you were only meant to be out for a couple of hours. A nice, quiet and romantic meal together was the original plan, the night ending with you two heading home and falling asleep all cuddled up in bed well before midnight.
However, at the sight of a neon karaoke sign, other arrangements were quickly made. Neither of you can just idly walk by a karaoke bar. You both love them too much, hence now being mortal messes at almost sunrise.
You reach for his arm, but end up grabbing the fridge handle instead — funny how that happens — and start to think about food. You pull it open, your back facing Harry, the view inside glorious.
“Fuck, I’m so hungry.” You moan, eyes scanning over the items trying to decide on what to choose, “I’m making something to eat.”
The feeling of large, soft hands smoothing across your belly catches you by welcome surprise, your body melting against Harry’s now pressed against you from behind. His arms wrap around your waist. Chin on your shoulder. Facial hair tickling your cheek.
“I know what I want to eat.” He hums, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck, “Gimme a bit of you, darling. Just a little taste.”
You roll your eyes and scoff, even though his velvet voice and teasing touch has the existence of butterflies going bananas in both your stomach and between your legs, “Nice try. That slick tongue isn’t working its magic on me tonight.”
“It could if you asked nicely.” He says, burying his face against the crook of your shoulder, inhaling you, his dopey drunken grin felt against your skin, “I’ll treat you real good. I always treat you real go-”
“Cake!” You yell out, the two-tiered chocolatey goodness stealing your attention despite Harry’s best efforts to keep it, “Fuckin’ score!”
“‘M glad someone’s scorin’ tonight.” He laughs against you as you reach for the plate, a kiss pressed to your temple as he slips his hands away.
You turn around, finding him playfully pouting. The puppy dog eyes are out as he retreats to lean against the kitchen island, one foot crossing over the other once there.
Harry nudges his chin toward the cake, then nods his head for you to come closer, “If I’m not getting a slice of you, you can gimme a slice of that.”
“Make me.”
Parroting his previous words while mirroring the grin he wore when he said them makes him raise a brow, and his lips pucker at your insolence. It sends a shiver through your drunk self, the kind that suddenly makes you want to rip his clothes off and jump his bones. You’re a woman of many talents, as your love likes to say, and the best one is your ability to change mood in an instant. You can go from hungry to horny in the blink of an eye.
Harry doesn’t say a thing, but he does amble over to a kitchen cabinet for a bottle of whiskey. He grabs a shot glass, pours himself a measure, and necks it with ease before he’s back to grinning at you while walking to lean against the island again.
You simply gawk at him for how hot all of that was. You’ve seen him do a hundred shots over the years, but you'll never not turn into mush watching it happen. The way his large, veiny hand makes the tiny glass look even tinier. How his head tosses back. Jaw tenses. Throat bobs. No wince. Just a gasp of pure delight.
“You’ve got until I get to the count of three to bring your cute, bratty ass here.”
His threat brings a stop to your dizzy daydreaming moment, launching you back into the now where you were acting up. Your parted mouth bends into a smirk. Heart beating hard beats harder some more.
“Or what?” You ask, head tilted. Tongue tauntingly running over your bottom lip, “You gonna smack it?”
Harry lets his other brow rise too, a smirk on his lips now, “One…”
“Ooo, he’s counting.”
You watch him try not to laugh, determined to keep his cool, “Two…”
“I think we’re safe, Cakey. He doesn’t know what comes after two.” You whisper to the plated pudding in your hands.
Another laugh stifled, his bunny teeth on display as he tucks his bottom lip behind it to stop the sound from coming out, “Three.”
And you haven’t moved an inch, except for your smirk. That’s wider now. You grin so hard that if you weren’t wasted, and your face wasn’t numb from all the alcohol, it would ache. Wind-up mode that you know Harry loves so much fully activated.
He shakes his head slowly, kissing his teeth, “You’re in for it now.”
“You’ll have to catch me first.”
And then you’re off. You feign moving to the left, going to the right instead, but Harry knew that was coming. He knows you like the back of his hand.
He uses both of his to swoop you up from the ground as you try to dart past him. Your back is now pressed to his front, belly aching and shaking with laughter held by his strong arms, and legs kicking out in playful protest.
The next thing you know, you’re both on the floor. Harry on his backside, and you between his legs. Two thuds and two ouches, but you aren’t the only ones.
A third thud. No ouch. The cake that hits the ground too can’t talk, obviously.
“NO!” You both yell simultaneously soap opera style, looking at the cake face down and splattered across the tiled floor. Thankfully it’s on a paper plate, so that isn’t smashed. Unlike like the two of you.
Silence follows, the pair of you grieving the loss. You loved that cake. You and that cake could have had a good life together.
“I actually think I might cry.” You mumble, head shaking in disbelief, “A dead dessert, ‘n I think I’ve just broken my arse too. I should’ve just let you smack it. At least that’s a fun pain.”
Your focus on the pudding becomes obscured, because Harry has crawled to sit before you. His hands cup your face, and he’s frowning adorably. You’re almost certain you can see tears brimming in his pretty green doe eyes.
“I’m so sorry, flower. ‘S all my fault.” He presses a kiss to your lips in haste, then another. Then another. Then one more for good measure, “‘M gonna make it right, ‘kay?”
You’re not given a second to tell Harry that he doesn’t need to apologise, that it’s not his fault and there’s nothing to make right (it’s just cake at the end of the day, even though you’re now craving it more than ever), because the next thing you know, he’s on his feet. Then he’s stumbling towards the cupboards. And finally, he’s opening them all up, pulling out random things as he goes.
“Baby, what are you doing?” You ask with a light, confused-sounding laugh, pulling yourself up to stand, but wincing as you do. The ache in your backside is strong. Clearly the booze is starting to wear off. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have a second heartbeat there.
Setting everything down on the counter, he casts you a smile over his shoulder that shrugs nonchalantly, “Baking you a cake.”
“You are not!” You laugh again, louder and no longer confused, while walking toward him, “Harry, I love you soooo much, and I appreciate you so much too, but you’re not baking at four in the bloody morning!”
“Why not?” He huffs, turning around and draping his arms over your shoulders with a toothy smile, “‘S the best time to bake. The shop opens soon.”
“You worked at a bakery for one summer and you can’t let it go.” You giggle again, shaking your head as you wrap your arms around his waist. This man… “Where’d I find you, huh? You’re an absolute riot, and I’d like to return.”
“No returns, no exchanges. That was the policy you unknowingly agreed to, and the boyfriend store is closed for good now.” Harry tells you matter-of-factly, more laughter pouring from you at his cheeky, charming ways, “Sorry, darling, but you’re stuck with me.”
“Pity. I was wanting an upgrade.”
His jaw drops, a shocked laugh scoffed out, “And to think I was gonna bake a cake for you! It’s you that needs to apologise to me now!”
“Mm, and how can I do that?” You tease, fingers now mindlessly playing with the waistband of his bottle green slacks at the base of his spine, the fabric of his sage green silk shirt tucked into them so soothing, “A kiss?”
He shakes his head, mischief in his eyes as he looks at your own that are filled with the same emotion. You know what he’s about to say, and you’re now more than ready and happy to give him what he wants, because it’s what you want, too. If you can’t have cake, you’ll have him, although you’ll always want him more than chocolate. That’s how you knew it was real love.
“A dance.”
Your eyes widen in surprise at his request, which makes Harry chuckle. You weren’t expecting that, but you’re not mad about it. Not one bit.
Nudging his chin your way once more, he gives you a smirk, “C’mon, flower. Dance with me?”
You’ll never miss an opportunity to dance with Harry. It’s one of your favourite things to do. To be in his arms either sober, tipsy or drunk, and spin and sway around a room while he murmur sings in your ear a song that isn’t playing is the closest thing to heaven on earth.
You don’t need the music at all. His voice is that and more. He knows you love it when he takes breaks between lyrics to tell you how much he loves you, sentiments you reciprocate just as fast and fondly, or to press sweet kisses to your forehead, nose, cheeks and lips. You kiss him back just as many times.
So you accept his request – after sinking a shot of whiskey to stay on his level of drunkenness. That earned you a whistle and a cheer from him, which made you blush, roll your eyes and grin giddily before you fell back into his arms again.
You’re both still buzzed from the buckets of booze necked tonight, but it’s easing off a little despite the whiskey refreshers. You can tell that Harry is turning just tipsy now from the way his cheeks have shifted from rosy red to perfect peach, and the fact he’s standing on your toes less and less with every step he takes as throughout the kitchen dance. You can tell you’re turning just tipsy now from picking up on the colour difference in his skin, and the fact you’re standing on his toes less and less with every step you take throughout the kitchen dance as well.
The sunrise is already starting to happen given its summer, its dreamy light gold glow casting through the large windows. It shows off the slight reddish tint that runs through Harry’s cropped curls, rays of it around his head like a halo, which makes sense. He is an angel, after all. Yours.
Against your palms, you can feel the ridges of his back muscles through the bottle green blazer that matches his slacks. Your torso pressed against his graced by the contours of his pecs and abs through his shirt. He’s somehow both hard and soft, a juxtaposition that will never not make you dizzy. That you’ll never not love. You always feel so safe in his arms, because they’re home. Harry is home.
And while the moment between you is loving and sweet, you can still feel a different vibe emanating, one that started off before cakegate and continued a little just after. You know he can feel it, too. You can tell by the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re the dessert.
It’s why you give him a bright smile while eyeing him up, head cocked to the left, “You still wanna treat me real good, baby? Still fancying a little taste of me?”
And just like that, one dance ends and another begins, an answer given by Harry in the form of lifting you up for a second time tonight. You squeal in delighted surprise, your feet gone from the ground, and backside meeting the marbled kitchen island countertop.
He grins, slotting himself between your thighs, hands leaving your hips to cup your face. You’re breathless from the moves. From the man. From the moment.
His mouth meeting yours steals what little breath you had left, and it’s a startling shift from the delicate dancing you were just doing, because there is no delicacy now. The way he kisses you is hot and heavy, an energy you match effortlessly.
The embrace is all fast lips, clashing teeth, entwining tongues and loud moans. Your hands in his hair. His cradling your jaw, tipping your head back to dominate your mouth.
You tug at his roots and give him bottom lip a quick nip, the most salacious sound rattling in his throat following. It makes you grin, the expression aching your face that’s burning up in bliss.
He pulls back, your eyes opening to find his blown out. Harry rakes them all over your expression as yours do the same to his. He looks as hot and bothered as you feel, with a glossy, swollen mouth stretched into a smirk.
“How’s your ass?”
You chuckle at his question, “Could use a little lovin’. How’s yours? It didn’t half take a hit as well.”
“It’s been hit harder, or don’t you remember?” He grins, his nose now running along the length of your own while you clench around nothing at the memory he’s just evoked in your mind, “‘M fine, though. Want me to kiss yours better?”
Shaking your head, you use your hold in his hair to tug him, hinting, “Kiss somewhere else first.”
His eyes widen a little, hands dropping from your face to splay against the marble by your hips as he tuts, “Where’s your manners, huh? You’re usually so polite.”
“Please, Harry.” You coo as sweet as sugar, leaning forward with fluttering lashes while nudging the tip of his nose with the tip of your own, “Be a good boy and eat my pussy.”
Another groan from him, his eyes rolling into the back of his head for a hot second before he’s recalibrated, sights set on you and grin wide, “Now was that so hard?”
“No. But you are.” You tease, his erection straining against his slacks felt against your centre, “Get to work, baby. If you’re lucky, I’ll let you come too.”
Within a second, your back is flat against the countertop. Harry gently nudged you to lie before sinking to his knees between your thighs, with you giggling as he did.
Those heighten now as he tugs you to the edge of the surface. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you look down at him to find him already looking up at you. Lazy smiles decorate both of your faces, his hands under your dress making hasty work of pulling your panties down.
“Someone’s needy tonight.” You tease, lifting your hips to help him out.
Harry tosses the fabric over his shoulder, your legs draped over them as he stands tall on his knees with his face level with your cunt, “For you, my love? Always.”
And without hesitating a second longer, he pushes your thighs further apart, and dives forward to taste you. All movements fast. Desperate. Like a man possessed.
His wet tongue slowly licks up through your equally wet slit, hums of satisfaction sounding out from him as he tastes you. Breathes you in. You shudder and shake already, head tossing back and smile wide while panting hard.
But the feeling of his lips wrapping around your clit that he starts to suck makes your chin meet your chest, your blurry vision blinked clear to take in the sexy sight of him. He’s smirking as he works, which turns you on as much as his mouth does. Harry’s face between your legs, mouth on your cunt and nose pressed firmly against you will never not be absolutely stunning. Especially when he looks so damn pleased with himself.
You give him a grin, a hand leaving the surface to hold the back of his head, “You’re doing so good, baby. Keep going for me, yeah?”
He nods and hums, the movement and his moustache tickling you, and the sound vibrating through. Both things only add to the pleasure you feel, something you know he’s experiencing, too. He loves eating you out, an expert in the art of it, and he loves praise. Calling Harry a good boy and telling him he’s doing a wonderful job is his kryptonite.
It also spurs him on. He’s still sucking on your throbbing clit, but now the tip of his tongue moves against it in fast flicks as well. The wet sounds of your cunt that he feasts on harmonise with your moans, your fingers knitted in his hair holding him in place against you. Not that he plans on leaving. Harry won’t let himself go anywhere until you’ve had your orgasm, and he’s got the proof of it all over his lips and chin.
His palms were stroking up and down your trembling thighs, but now they splay across your stomach. Fingers linking, he presses down to keep you in place. He’s eating you out like you’re his last meal, the speed of his tongue quickening. The desperation he feels heightening.
All of his movements make it harder for you to breathe, see, think, and you definitely can’t speak a full sentence anymore. Nothing but broken moans and his name whimpered leave your lips that are still pulled into a grin of pure euphoria; his own also felt against your cunt.
The knot in your stomach comes closer to unravelling with every suck and lick Harry gives your throbbing clit, a feeling that only grows more intense now that he’s brought his right hand down to your dripping hole and slipped his index and middle fingers inside of your pussy. Knuckle deep, with the cool metal of his rings kissing your skin, he pumps them in and out of you fast, curling them in that perfect way to hit that sweet spot.
The sounds of your arousal around his digits is obscene. Pornographic. You don’t think you’ve ever been wetter, and you’re gasping for air, with tears stinging your eyes. Your brain feels fuzzy. Body turned to jelly.
“Fuck- H! Faster, baby, please.” You manage to moan out the most coherent sentence for a while, nodding deliriously next, “I’m so close!”
And he does what he’s told, because he always does what he’s told when you’re the one telling him to do it. Harry’s fingers fuck you faster, and the speed of his tongue goes quicker than ever.
It’s only seconds later that you’re coming, thighs tensing hard around his head. Toes cramping so fiercely it physically hurts. Stars seen behind your screwed shut eyes making all of the pleasurable pain even more worthwhile. Arousal gushing from you coating his tongue and fingers in such a high quantity that you feel drained.
He now lightly laps against you, catching every bit of release you give him, his whimpers garbled and grin still wide. You’re huffing and puffing, fingers sore from gripping his hair so hard. The rest of you feels liquified. Light. Loved.
Now spent, your high something he rode you through and enjoyed every drop of, Harry pulls his fingers out while pressing soft and sweet kisses all over your core. It makes you smile, aftershocks of your orgasm causing the occasional shudder. Your hand stroke through his hair while his palms are back to running up and down your thighs.
Once your breathing is back to somewhat regulated, he pulls back. Your legs over his shoulders manoeuvred to wrap around his waist as he stands tall. His face all flushed inches toward yours, the smell of you on his breath so sweet. Such a turn on. Harry wears your come like lip gloss, a good helping of it soaking his moustache and stubbled chin.
He grins, nose brushing against the length of yours, “How was that for treating you good, huh?”
“You never miss.” You hum, grinning back. It’s true. You’re still waiting for your soul to return to your body.
“Damn fuckin’ right I don’t.”
You giggle, bringing both of your hands to link around his neck. Harry brings his right one to cup the front of your throat, the left the back of your head, teasing and tilting you just how he likes. How you like, too.
“Open up that pretty mouth for me, darling.”
You do just that, ready for what you know is about to come. Yours, mixed in with his saliva.
Harry doesn’t disappoint. He spits straight into your mouth, and then he’s slamming his against it. The kiss is deep. Sloppy. You can taste yourself all over his tongue, your tongue, and it’s sending you into a frenzy. Recharging you with a desire for more pleasure despite just experiencing a healthy dose that almost wiped you out.
He pulls his lips away, which makes you chase them, him, desperate for more. But Harry keeps you pinned in place with his grip on your throat and a tut.
“Now who’s being needy?”
You pout, cunt throbbing again, “You complaining?”
“Not at all, flower.”
Slipping his hand from the back of your head to your ponytail, he wraps it around his wrist and tugs. Your head tilts back fast, a sweet sting felt all over your scalp that makes you gasp and clench around nothing.
“But you’ve had your good treatment.” He coos, peering down at you with piercing eyes and a pleased smirk, “I made you come so hard. So much. It’s my turn, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” You rush out breathlessly, any bratty response you might have previously given no longer an option. Harry’s got you so worked up again already. You need him now. Need him to do whatever the fuck he wants to you.
“Good girl.” He grins, letting go of your hair and nodding his head; a gesture for you to climb off of the countertop, “Bend over.”
With the help of his hands, you slide off of the surface, turn around and lie your torso flat against the cool marble with your hands either side of your head. You can feel Harry’s eyes glued to your backside, the gap he created to let you get into position now closed again, and his fingers pinching the hem of your dress slowly lifting it up to your hips.
A low groan rattles in his chest, you bare ass now on show. His stare scorches. Drives you wild. Makes you squirm.
Now his touch has the same effect. Harry, as soft as silk, skims his palms over the rounds of your ass, squeezing your cheeks. Spreading them a little, too.
“Got a little bruise on your peach.” He hums, his feather-light yet feral touch on the tender area so soothing, “Can I kiss it better now?”
“Please do.”
And with that, he sinks to his knees for the second time tonight. His soft lips press a gentle kiss against the sore spot, but you know he won’t stop there.
With his hands on your hips and thumbs rubbing small circles, Harry trails his perfect lips up to the base of your spine, sweetly kissing each dimple that decorates the bottom of it. You smile, feeling wanted. Worshipped. You’re his deity, and he never misses a day of praying to you.
Along with his mouth peppering kisses up your back, your dress bunched at your hips rises higher as well, with his fingers back to tugging the material up your body. You stand straight to help him rid the garment completely, the fabric tossed to the ground once off; one final kiss pressed to your temple.
You stand completely naked, his hands quick to teasingly slide up your stomach and palm your tits. He cups and squeezes, toying with your nipples while nibbling your lobe. Your back arches, your chest pressed further into his touch and your ass against his rock solid cock, your head falling back against his shoulder as whine after whine tumbles from your mouth.
“Your body drives me crazy. You drive me crazy. Love you so much.” Harry purrs, voice rugged and smirk evident.
Your heart hammers hard, thighs squeezed together tightly to try and dull the throb in your pussy. But the way he’s playing with your tits and murmuring sweet nothings in your ear while now grinding his length against your ass means nothing will help. Nothing except for him being inside you.
“Love you so much, too.” Your response is breathy, the smile on your face bright, “No more teasing, baby. Give us what we both want.”
Harry presses a grinning kiss to the shell of your ear, his hands slipping away from your chest to where his cock grazes your backside. His fingers lightly nudge it as he unbuttons his slacks, a whimper and groan heard upon him pulling himself free from their confines.
“Bend over again for me, flower.” He speaks, tone a little taut. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s speaking with a clenched jaw and gritted teeth in an attempt to remain composed.
Within seconds of your naked torso meeting the cool countertop once more, he’s teasing your cunt with his tip. Dipping it in for a moment before pulling right back out. Over and over again until your fluttering pussy drips even more and you’re close to screaming at him to get on with it. Lovingly, of course.
You can feel him smirking, smug at what he’s doing and how riled up he’s making you. Harry loves to tease, and as much as you tell him otherwise, you love it when he teases you.
But he drops the wind-up act quicker than you anticipated, and as he gives you more than just the tip, you’re crying out in bliss. Harry has pushed forward fast. Filled you balls deep. His hips press against your ass, your cunt hugging his shaft. He cried out at the feeling, too.
“Fuck, you’re so tight.”
You put your arms behind you, hands blindly reaching out for his hips and nails biting when you find them, “And you’re so fucking big. God, H… you feel so good.”
Harry has a firm grip on your own hips, using them as leverage to pull out slowly, and push back in fast, hard, rough. The thrust punches the air from your lungs, a broken moan following. His breaths are all rugged, too. If you could see his face right now, you know that you’d find his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and that gorgeous, sloppy smile that you love so much.
“So wet. So warm.” He mumbles mindlessly, pulling out once more with a groan, his focus felt on where you both meet, “Wish you could see how fucking good we look together.”
You open your mouth to say something back, but you’re stopped with another fast, hard and rough thrust. And then another. And then another.
Harry gives you no chance to speak, or even collect your breath. He just screws you mercilessly, and all you can give him is whimpers. Each quick stroke winds you, his cock hitting that perfect spot just as perfectly every time. He’s so deep. Feels so dreamy.
The slapping sounds of your slick skin and his balls smacking against your ass harmonises with his groans and your whines. You’re close to your climax already thanks to all of the teasing, how turned on you are and the first orgasm you experienced still partly rallying through you. You need another. And you need him to reach his first.
You can tell that he’s close to coming already from the all but animalistic sounds he makes. From the way your name mixed with love confessions and profanities rolls off of his tongue unencumbered. From the way his hands have slackened their hold ever so slightly on your hips.
Swallowing hard and sucking in air, you open your wired-shut eyes and flick them to look over your shoulder, “You’re gonna come, aren’t you?”
Harry, feeling your gaze, meets it, an apologetic expression worn as he nods and slows down his rhythm a fraction, “I’m sorry, darling. You just feel so good, ‘n I’m still a little bit drunk. You know I can never last long after a few too many.”
You giggle, which makes him grin, “‘M still a little drunk, too. ‘S okay, baby. Don’t be sorry and don’t slow down. I love how good I’m making you feel. How my cunt makes you come so quickly. Makes me feel so good.”
Pushing yourself up with your hands, you rest on them. He’s quickened his pace a little again, but you can tell he’s still hesitant to go full tilt. That he doesn’t want to come just yet.
With your neck craned and eyes still on his, you flash him a cheeky smile, “Don’t be scared. Come inside me. Fill me up. Fuck it deep.”
Before you know it, you’re being hugged against his chest, his strong arms wrapped around it. Back flush against his muscled torso. Hands still on the countertop for extra support. His soft lips at your ear; breath and moustache tickling you.
“You’re gonna kill me with that filthy fucking mouth of yours. You know that, right?”
“Good.” You smirk, his choppy breaths fanning down your neck in the most gorgeous way.
He picks up his pace again, fucking up into you. The pair of you standing means he’s hitting even deeper than he was before, your arousal running past his length and down onto your thighs. Your moans louder than ever as his tip taps against your cervix which each delicious thrust.
You grind against him. Clench around him. Your neck twisting a little further to catch a glimpse of him. The sight you find wettening you further of a furrowed brow, slack jaw and blown out eyes struggling to stay open. Harry looks so good. You love his beautiful face all of the time, but in the middle of sex is your favourite version. It’s so natural. So full of bliss.
“C’mon.” You start to urge him again, smirking as devilishly as you feel. As your thoughts. You know just what to say to get what you both want. Need, “Be a good boy and come for Mommy.”
The most spine-tingling whimper follows your dirty words, with Harry fucking you fast and hard until your legs threaten to give out. Until your hands can’t hold onto the countertop anymore and you have to rely solely on his arms hugging you to his body as support. Until your vision turns white as you screw your eyes shut and come hard, which triggers him to do the exact same.
You feel his come filling you up in quick and sharp spurts, his head dropping to the crook of your neck and groans soaking into your sweaty skin. Teeth grazing against it as he hunches up. Lips peppering sloppy kisses to it once he’s given you all he’s got and relaxed, and you’ve given him and done the same.
What feels like hours, but is only really minutes, of you and Harry regaining your breaths and coming back to earth pass by before he’s carefully pulling out, tucking himself away and lifting you from the ground once more. You’re nothing but an exhausted and limp bag of bones, both of you chuckling quietly at the fact as he carries you to the guest bathroom to clean up.
Once inside, Harry offers to help you out, but you tell him you’re good. He sets you down to stand, peppers your face in sleepy, sloppy kisses, tells you he loves you a dozen times, you tell him the same thing back just as many, and then he leaves you to it.
After sorting yourself up, yawning all the way through the post-sex and pre-sleep routine of peeing, washing your hands and face, and brushing your teeth, you leave the bathroom, fully prepared to turn left and head upstairs. That’s where Harry will no doubt now be.
But upon a cupboard closing sound coming from the right, the kitchen, you quickly realise he isn’t. He’s still in that room, and the thought of having to attempt wrangling his tipsy ass out of it again is almost enough to make you cry. You’re more than ready for bed now.
You’re still very much naked, but that doesn’t stop you from storming back into the kitchen like a woman on a mission, ready to scold. It’s got to be coming up for five a.m now. Why Harry has gone back to that room, you don’t know.
The sight of his bare backside stops your footsteps dead, your jaw hitting the floor you’re frozen on. He was fully clothed when he left you in the bathroom, but now his suit has joined your dress; the different shades of green blending with black a heap on the floor.
Your focus drifts from the pile, and also the dropped cake that still needs to be cleaned up, to his peachy behind, the tanned area taut and without blemish. Harry faces away from you, none the wiser to your presence. He’s busying himself with something at the counter.
And what that is becomes apparent when your eyes skim up his muscled back, finding two bows knotted. One around his neat waist. The other around the nape of his neck. He’s wearing a goddamn apron. He’s fucking baking.
As though he could hear your thoughts and wanted to confirm them as fact, Harry turns around with a bright grin on his face, a silver mixing bowl cradled in the crook of his left arm, a wooden spoon in his right hand doing the mixing, and the beige pinny you gifted him one Christmas that reads ‘I’M KNEADY’ in bold, black lettering across it covering his torso.
“Worked up an appetite, so I’ve opened up the bakery.” He winks, voice still a little slurred. Whether that be from the booze, sex or fatigue, you don’t know, but you’re not mad about it, or at him. Not any more. Not ever, actually.
Instead, you grin back, giggle hard and walk toward the other apron hanging up on the peg, yours that reads ‘SOMEBODY KNEADS A HUG’. Harry bought you that the same year you bought him his; one of those moments where you just knew you were soulmates after gifting one another similar gifts without any inclination it would happen whatsoever. A pure coincidence. Or fate, as he would say.
You slip it on over your body, tying the ribbons as you saunter toward him. Harry beams at you, but he doesn’t seem surprised that you’re feeding into his silly antics. You love them. Love him.
Wrapping your arms around his waist, he sets down the mixing bowl and wraps his around yours. He presses a swift and cheeky kiss to the tip of your nose, you press one to his adorable dimple, and then you’re back to grinning at one another; exhaustion no longer felt. How much he loves you, how much you love him, gives you energy. Brings you life.
“What kinda cake are we making?”
A lazy, cocky shrug from him and wicked glint in his gorgeous green eyes, “Whatever kind gets me called a good boy, and for you to dip into Mommy mode again.”
At that you laugh, shaking your head in a dizzy sort of way, and your cheeks flush rosy red. This man… he’s the one that’s going to kill you with his filthy mouth and mind that’s forever in the gutter, not the other way around.
You wouldn’t change a thing about Harry, though. Even when he’s being a drunk pain in the ass. You love every version more than anything else in the world.
“Better make it chocolate then.”
