Impulse (part 1)
There will be a smutty part two. Tomorrow. I just wanted to get this one out today. Ignore the typos and all that, I didn’t really have time to edit. Also, this was born last night during a sleep induced and frustrated conversation with @permanentcross. Hope you enjoy xx
“So… what d'yeh
wanna watch?!” Harry asks you, eyebrow popping up as he poses the question.
You’re both at his place, sprawled out on the big couch while facing the TV, the coffee table filled with sweets and popcorn while the both of you flicked through Netflix searching for something worth watching.
“Whatever you want…” You mumble, distracted. There was too much in your head that prevented you from caring about the film you were supposed to be watching.
Harry had a bit of downtime between one work commitment and the other and, while he was still in London, he’d wanted to spend time with you. It was a harmless, intention lacking evening - two friends getting together for a pint and a movie. At least that’s what it was supposed to be.
What started as an innocent get together quickly turned into a torturous evening for you, filled with tension and lack of control.
It started long ago, these feelings. Warm and cozy, swirling in your belly before going up your chest and squeezing your heart with fondness that turned into want very quickly. You had been successfully fighting it for months, putting up some distance between the both of you and taking advantage of the fact that Harry was busy - sometimes so busy he could only send you a quick “How was your day? xx” text and that was it, for at least a while, before he had time to talk again.
It worked perfectly for you. What the eyes can’t see, the heart can’t feel it, right?! But that was not how it worked.
The minute he’d texted you saying he wanted to catch up, everything you had been pressing down and hiding knocked you out like lightening. It was a mixture of pent up emotion that had you breathless and shaking - tummy filled with uncontrollable butterflies, a yearning in your chest so strong it was painful, your nerves too heightened to ignore. But you had no escape, you had agreed to see him and he was expecting you - three whole days of expectation, excitement and nerves that had you shaking to your bone while you drove to his place.
Once he’d opened the door and wrapped you up in a tight embrace, it felt like every knot in your body snapped, emotion flooding into you like tsunami tides that forced you to hold on to him for dear life. You both stood in his foyer, arms wound tight around each other, your ear pressed to his chest where his heart was beating B steadily, his scent swarming your senses while the soft fabric of his sweater rubbed against your cheek and you felt safe. You felt safe and home.
“Missed you, pet.” Harry mumbled, temple pressed against yours. You could hear his voice rumbling through his chest, vibrating against your cheek and you sigh, feeling your chest swelling with fondness as you untangle your arms from around him and look up to his face, a shy smile playing on your lips. “Don’t go MIA on me like that!”
“Says the one who sends a text every three months.” You gripe and he laughs, just because he knows you’re right, his green eyes alight as he looks at you. “Missed you too.”
From that moment on, you were screwed. You try and keep to yourself, sitting on the corner of the couch and observing him go back and forth around the living room, offering you various things to eat while he told you about everything he’d been doing for the past few months.
He looks different - better, if possible. You can see his shoulders are wider, arms stronger under the big amount of fabric of his sweater, lose around his sides and covering his hands, giving him sweater paws and softening his appearance, even though he looks more like a man now than ever before, no traces of the soft boy he once was. His hair is covered by a Green Bay Packers beanie, contrasting against his all black outfit and he looks sleepy, telling you that he was probably having a nap before you ringed the bell.
“That’s enough ‘bout me.” He sighs, finally plopping down beside you, much closer than you’d like him to. His legs are spread open, tattooed hand gripping your thigh as he rests back against the couch and smiles at you. “How have you been, love?”
“I’ve been good.” You shrug. “Nothing as exciting as your life but still, been having a nice time.” You smile at him, head resting on your hand as you turn to look at him.
He looks breathtakingly good, his legs spread, looking so nice and strong it was almost an invitation for you to settle yourself on his lap. His lips, pink and full, are slick and glistening with spit from how many times he had ran his tongue over them while he talked to you and he has his bottom one pinched between his thumb and forefinger as he listens patiently while you speak.
Your eyes, as much as you tried to control them, couldn’t look away from him and you can feel your chest tightening and your hands and lips tingling with want. So much time apart, so many repressed and shoved down feelings that were now making themselves known again and it was like a flood – unbound and uncontrolled, running over barriers and defenses you had put up and destroying them just as if they were a toothpick - effortlessly. There was no wall hiding them from your eyes and your heart, your feelings were right there, in broad daylight for you to see, staring you in the face and telling you that no, you weren’t escaping this time.
Harry’s hand, the one that gripped your thigh, is warm but it feels like a burning fire on your skin, even through your clothes and you could swear that if he kept it there a second longer, you’d both see smoke coming out of it. You’re overheating with his closeness, sparks igniting your bones and making your blood rush through your veins so fast it makes you dizzy. His eyes, eyes you love so much, are looking at you like you are his whole world and you don’t know if it was because you missed him or because you wanted it so badly, for so long, but before you could stop yourself, you are lunging forward, one leg straddling his thigh, leaning in eagerly, hands firmly pressed against his cheeks, your lips molding to his as you shut your eyes tightly and melt into a kiss.
Your tongue runs over his bottom lip before your thumb presses to his chin as you beg, with a desperate and whiny sound, for him to open up to you and you didn’t know what possessed him to allow this, but he does, lips parting and welcoming your greedy tongue into his mouth. You can taste the beer he’d been drinking on his tongue and it makes you sigh, because right under it is the taste of him, the one you’ve always wanted to know and it makes you shake with a burning, overwhelming desire. You had wondered, for so long, how it would be… how he would feel, how he would taste and now you knew.
The swirls of pleasure fluttering inside of you settle into a tight pressure low on your tummy, a knot wound so tight it makes you ache for him. You suckle on his bottom lip as you hold him still, as still as a rock. He’s not even touching you but when you bite on his bottom lip, his chest expands as he takes a sharp breath and his hands reach for your arms as his neck stretches up to reach for you - to get closer, to kiss deeper.
It’s then, when he moans your name and pulls you closer, that it dawns on you – you are kissing him. Harry. You’re not supposed to kiss him. You pull away with a gasp, nail scraping the skin of his neck, lips making a filthy sound as you push away from him, your eyes wide and your hands shaking.
“I’m-“ You start, breathless, fingers reaching for your lips as you feel the tingling still there, the knot still pressing on your tummy, the shivers still running down your spine.
Harry is on the couch, hands dropped to his sides, red
bitten lips parted in shock and a frown on his forehead as his green eyes lock
“I’m sorry.” You breath out, hand pressing to your forehead as you feel your eyes swell with tears. What have you done? “I fucked up, I’m- I’m s-so sorry.”
“Love, don’t-“ He starts but it’s too late for a reaction. You’re already out the door.
“Hi, I can’t answer you right now, please leave a message.”
He already knows the words by heart now, engraved in
his brain because of the amount of times he had to listen to them over the past
How long had it been now? A week? Two? Maybe a month, Harry doesn’t know. All he knows is that you don’t answer it. And you if he were to make a bet, he’d say you won’t answer him any time soon. At least not now - probably not ever, if he knows you well enough.
The kiss, that
desperate, erratic, lust filled kiss had been playing over and over again in
his head, just as much as the message on your voicemail. He already went over
it a thousand times, looking for that one thing – the thing that made you run
away from him and disappear as if you’ve never existed in the first place.
He’d tried to get in touch with you in every way he knew how – calls, voicemail, texts that went unread, Twitter, Facebook, the lot. Every time, he came up emptyhanded and it was like a shock to his system.
He has questions,
questions only you can answer and they are driving him mad, haunting his dreams
every time his head hits the pillow. Where are you? Why won’t you answer him? Why
did you run? What was that kiss… what did it mean?
“What have I done?” Is the question he asks you the most, with no answer. Ever.
Confused is the perfect word to describe him. Confused… and hurt. Not even after your worst fights, which weren’t many but that happened anyway, had you ever shut him out like this. It’s a constant silence, a never ending stream of unanswered pleads that lead him nowhere and it’s driving him mental.
It’s like the clock beside his bed is mocking him - 11:59 to 00:00. Another day you didn’t talk to him, another day he lost a little more of you. Another rejection. Another 24 hours of complete and utter silence, the only change being the digits beside your phone number, that kept going higher and higher. What was it now? A hundred? He didn’t know. But he was done with it.