Plunge
Morning cuddles
~Cassidy~
I awoke the next morning to darkness. At first, my eyes fluttered, eventually opening, and I sighed, deciding that I could probably make myself go back to sleep if I really tried.
Then, with a jolt, I realised that I wasn’t in familiar surroundings. The walls of the room were red; the window wasn’t where it usually was, blinds drawn. Through the small cracks of the shutters, gray light poured through, illuminating the setting somewhat.
I nestled my head further into the pillow, thinking maybe that I was just hallucinating. Squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, I tried to take deep breaths, but my nose was met with the heavy scent of mint: spearmint.
Hold on.
I pushed myself up, deciding to sit up and observe the room I was in. Was I drunk last night? Did I get kidnapped? What the hell?
I gasped loudly when I found myself restrained by an arm—quite muscular, might I add.
And then I realised that I was boiling. But it wasn’t from the black duvet covering my body, going up to my waist. There was something pressing into my backside, something hot and in close proximity. With a struggle, I managed to turn onto my back, and I twisted my head to the side.
My heart almost stopped.
Lying there was Harry. His eyes were closed, his breathing even. His hair was messy and dishevelled, matted against the pillow. His eyelids were relaxed, forehead bearing no creases. It made him look younger, like a teenage boy, all of the stress erased from his features. His lips were parted slightly, sucking and dispelling air. His silver crucifix necklace hung from his throat. I let my gaze trail down to his torso, only to find that it was nude.
Oh shit.
We’d had sex, hadn’t we?
But then I noticed that I was clad in a black t-shirt. My legs were bare, but I felt something decorating the tops of my thighs—shorts, probably. Against the skin of my legs I could feel a soft material—okay, so he was wearing sweatpants. That was good.
So maybe we didn’t have sex. Awesome.
With difficulty, I turned my whole body so that our chests were pressing together. Slowly, my hand came up to push some hair away from his forehead, only to have it flop back down, not being held in place by any gel. I smiled at how cute he looked right now; it was charming.
I let my fingers drop, tracing the features of his face, down his neck and over his shoulder, eventually resting my hand on his right arm, tracing along the muscles. They were prominent, even when they weren’t flexed.
And then it all came rushing back to me with such force that I found it hard to breathe. The storm, the talking, and what he’d said. He loved me? He loved me. The thought was so fucking absurd that I couldn’t even think about it without becoming all paranoid and narrowing my eyes in suspicion. God, I was so on edge, so closed up, and I hated it, but at the same time, I couldn’t let my walls come down, because that would be changing.
Fucking change.
“You know,” a raspy voice cut me out of my thoughts, “It’s rude to stare.”
Immediately my lips parted, and I felt embarrassed, “I wasn’t staring.”
His body rumbled with a chuckle, “Sure you weren’t.”
“I wasn’t!”
“Okay, okay, fine,” he smiled, his eyes still closed.
I brought my left hand up, index finger poking at the shadow of his dimple. He opened his right eye, gazing at me questioningly, “Can I help you?”
“Nope,” I said cheerfully, popping the ‘p’, “I’m good.”
“Good,” he groaned and nestled his face further into the pillow, hiding himself from my view. I decided to be playful and not let him know that I was slightly shaken—actually, very shaken—by the events that had taken place last night. So I pouted dramatically, ruffling up his hair.
“Harry,” I whined.
“What?” he whined back, making me smile; I tried to lift his head from the pillow, but he just groaned again and buried himself even deeper into the fluffy material.
I scoffed dramatically and smacked the back of his head, earning a muffled, “Ow!” which made me laugh.
“That’s what you get,” I stuck my tongue out at him, and he just tightened his grip around me, crushing our bodies together and making it hard for me to breathe, my chest pressed tightly against his.
“Can’t breathe,” I choked out, and he finally lifted his head from the pillow, shooting me a cheeky grin, “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes widening innocently, and I made a face, slapping his arm so that he’d release me.
He did no such thing; instead he began leaning towards me, lips looking so tempting.
“Stop!” I laughed, pushing away from him. He sulked, sticking his bottom lip out cutely, “Aw, why?”
“You have morning breath!” I pointed at him, “And I’m pretty sure I do too! At least brush your teeth before you kiss me.”
He threw the covers off of himself, sliding out of bed and grumbling something about ‘hygienic paranoia’, making me laugh. As he made his way over to the bathroom, I sat up and I studied him, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. I’d been right—he was wearing sweatpants. I studied his backside for a moment, marvelling at how tanned and fit it was before he yelled out. “Stop staring!”
I couldn’t help but to snicker lightly.
I heard the sound of running water, and fell back down onto the bed, sprawling my arms out and staring up at the ceiling, remembering everything that had happened last night with painful clarity. Great, I was so rattled up now.
After a minute, I rolled onto my stomach, burying my face into the plush pillow and inhaling the wonderful, cool scent of spearmint. Holy crap, he was not making this easier for me. I knew last night I’d felt something, but it hadn’t fully developed yet. I needed a bit of time.
Just then, something heavy was on top of me. I shrieked and tried turning around, but Harry just chuckled. He eventually lifted himself, planting his knees on the bed beside my hips, hands next to my head, simply hovering over me now.
“And may I ask what the fuck you’re doing?” I questioned sassily. He chuckled and then blew air towards me, making me catch a whiff of mint—toothpaste.
He grinned cheekily at me, “My teeth are brushed, mum.”
“Shut up,” I scoffed, smacking his arm. He leaned down to kiss me but I threw my hand over his mouth again, making him freeze, “What about me? My teeth aren’t brushed yet.”
He rolled his eyes and shook my hand off. “Fuck that,” he practically growled, and then he was kissing me.
His mouth tasted indeed like toothpaste, the taste so raw and new that it made my tongue sting with the coldness of the mint. I sighed into the kiss and then felt red-hot embarrassment creep up my neck and cheeks.
If he noticed, he didn’t make a note of it, simply leaning down even further, letting our bodies brush in as close of a proximity as they could without him completely lying atop me. My fingers ran through his hair—just like last night—unable to get enough of the waves and curls. I played with the small hairs on the nape of his neck, my fingertips brushing up against the coolness of the chain around his neck.
“Mm,” I pulled back—finally—and pursed my lips. He didn’t stop though; simply moving down to my neck and peppering small kisses to that same area he’d tortured last time. I winced when I felt his lips against the skin.
“Harry,” I said quietly, gripping his shoulders.
“Mm?” he hummed against my throat, and I tapped his back a few times, “I’m hungry.”
He pulled back, looking at me. His eyes were hooded, a slightly darker green, filled with lust. His hair was now stuck in a messy quiff, thanks to my roaming fingers, a few teeny strands resting on his forehead. His lips were parted; fanning my face with his newly minty breath, making my heart beat just a little bit quicker.
“Well then,” he said slowly, his lips curving up into a small smirk, “Don’t want my girl getting hungry now, do we?”
“No, we do not,” I stuck my tongue out at him, but he was quick to wrap his lips around it, sucking on it playfully. I pressed my lips to his again momentarily before pulling back again, and he groaned, rolling off of me and standing up.
I followed his lead, crossing my arms over my body when I realised the lack of a bra.
He seemed to notice that I was mildly uncomfortable, because he took my hands and put them around his neck, exposing my body again. His right hand was on my hip, left hand cupping my chin, “You’re beautiful, you idiot.”
I laughed and pulled away, heading into the washroom to brush my teeth, even though we were going to have breakfast now—you know, just in case I got to kiss him some more.
I heard him chuckle and leave his room, padding downstairs to start on our meal. I reached for a spare toothbrush in the drawer and squeezed some toothpaste out of the tube, proceeding to turn on the faucet and bring the brush to my lips.
After I was finished, I spit one last time into the sink and let the water run, and then I set the toothbrush back down on the counter. I slipped out of the washroom and Harry’s room and made my way downstairs, already smelling something delicious.
In the kitchen, Harry had his back to me, humming slightly and standing over the stove. I leaned on the doorway, taking this time to properly study him. He was without a shirt, the sweatpants hanging low on his hips, revealing to me the band of his Calvin Klein boxers.
His feet were bare, hair on the back of his head ruffled and messy, partially obscuring the silver chain hanging from his throat.
I bit the inside of my cheek when he brought his arms up to stretch. His biceps flexed and the muscles in his back bulged.
I don’t know if it was just because he sensed someone watching him or if he’d heard the small squeaking noise that I’d emitted, but he turned. When he saw me standing there, he grinned and me and stepped aside, gesturing to the stove, “Pancakes? Bacon?”
“My two best friends,” I replied, and he laughed.
I couldn’t help but to smirk as I made my way over to the stove, studying the golden-brown pancakes in the pan, and the bacon lying beside them, sizzling.
“This looks really good,” I mumbled to myself. He heard me and chuckled, and immediately my head whipped up to look at him; I was smiling sheepishly, since I hadn’t been intending for him to hear that.
“Thank you, love,” he said, and he pressed a kiss to my cheek. I cleared my throat and looked away after he’d pulled back. I could see him frown from the corner of my eye, looking like he wanted to pry into something but he wasn’t sure if it would be wise; well, that was definitely a first.
“Are you okay?” he asked me softly, fingers coming up to push hair away from my eyes. I nodded but still didn’t look at him.
He sighed, “No, you’re not.”
I made a frustrated sound and stepped back, placing my palms on the counter beside the stove and using the leverage to hop up and sit on the smooth marble surface. Harry just sighed again, grabbing a spatula from in the drawer and sliding it under the pancakes, flipping them swiftly. After he’d done so, he set the tool down and turned to me.
“Was it because of what I said?” he asked me quietly, seriously.
He grabbed my knees and spread them, moving to occupy the space between my legs, sending warm jolts to my area down there.
For a moment I was confused, and then I quickly caught on to what he was implying. I bit my lip, my silence being confirmation enough.
He gritted his teeth sadly, shaking his head, “I knew it was too soon.”
My head snapped up, wide eyes meeting his. I shook my head, imitating him, but my movement was rushed, vigorous. “No,” I managed to get out, “I mean—”
I put a hand on his cheek: an action surprising both of us. He looked up at me, eyes confused. I tried again, “I—I liked it when you said it. It just took me by surprise, that’s all. I—I don’t know what you expect, and you’re older, so I just—”
He smirked slightly, and my voice faltered.
“I already told you,” he began, “I don’t expect you to say it back unless—unless you want to, or if you feel ready. God, Cassidy, I just wanted to tell you, because it was killing me. As for the age, I’m not that much older, you know. Only one year.”
I sighed and nodded, knowing he was right. It suddenly felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders, as if I’d been reassured enough times to know that he actually meant the words that came out of his mouth. I grabbed onto his shoulders abruptly and pulled his body to mine, grazing his lips with mine. He was surprised for a moment but then quickly reciprocated, his large hands landing on my thighs.
“Thank you, Harry,” I told him sincerely, my breath hitting his face once we’d pulled back.
He smiled encouragingly at me and stepped back, resuming his position by the stove, glancing over at me once and winking at me. I looked down but smiled nonetheless and pushed myself forward, hopping off of the counter.
“I think it’s ready,” he told me simply.
I nodded, shooting him a small smile; I turned to rummage through his cupboards for two plates. Once I found them, I held them both out. Harry mounted a few pancakes onto each plate, never failing to flourish the spatula when he finished, making me chuckle.
I set the plates down and looked down, pulling open the cutlery drawer and gathering two forks and two knives. I jumped slightly when I felt a pair of warm arms wrap around my mid-section, but he calmed me by pressing his lips to the side of my head.
And then…
“I love you,” he whispered to me, and I smiled.
I awoke the next morning to darkness. At first, my eyes fluttered, eventually opening, and I sighed, deciding that I could probably make myself go back to sleep if I really tried.
Then, with a jolt, I realised that I wasn’t in familiar surroundings. The walls of the room were red; the window wasn’t where it usually was, blinds drawn. Through the small cracks of the shutters, gray light poured through, illuminating the setting somewhat.
I nestled my head further into the pillow, thinking maybe that I was just hallucinating. Squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, I tried to take deep breaths, but my nose was met with the heavy scent of mint: spearmint.
Hold on.
I pushed myself up, deciding to sit up and observe the room I was in. Was I drunk last night? Did I get kidnapped? What the hell?
I gasped loudly when I found myself restrained by an arm—quite muscular, might I add.
And then I realised that I was boiling. But it wasn’t from the black duvet covering my body, going up to my waist. There was something pressing into my backside, something hot and in close proximity. With a struggle, I managed to turn onto my back, and I twisted my head to the side.
My heart almost stopped.
Lying there was Harry. His eyes were closed, his breathing even. His hair was messy and dishevelled, matted against the pillow. His eyelids were relaxed, forehead bearing no creases. It made him look younger, like a teenage boy, all of the stress erased from his features. His lips were parted slightly, sucking and dispelling air. His silver crucifix necklace hung from his throat. I let my gaze trail down to his torso, only to find that it was nude.
Oh shit.
We’d had sex, hadn’t we?
But then I noticed that I was clad in a black t-shirt. My legs were bare, but I felt something decorating the tops of my thighs—shorts, probably. Against the skin of my legs I could feel a soft material—okay, so he was wearing sweatpants. That was good.
So maybe we didn’t have sex. Awesome.
With difficulty, I turned my whole body so that our chests were pressing together. Slowly, my hand came up to push some hair away from his forehead, only to have it flop back down, not being held in place by any gel. I smiled at how cute he looked right now; it was charming.
I let my fingers drop, tracing the features of his face, down his neck and over his shoulder, eventually resting my hand on his right arm, tracing along the muscles. They were prominent, even when they weren’t flexed.
And then it all came rushing back to me with such force that I found it hard to breathe. The storm, the talking, and what he’d said. He loved me? He loved me. The thought was so fucking absurd that I couldn’t even think about it without becoming all paranoid and narrowing my eyes in suspicion. God, I was so on edge, so closed up, and I hated it, but at the same time, I couldn’t let my walls come down, because that would be changing.
Fucking change.
“You know,” a raspy voice cut me out of my thoughts, “It’s rude to stare.”
Immediately my lips parted, and I felt embarrassed, “I wasn’t staring.”
His body rumbled with a chuckle, “Sure you weren’t.”
“I wasn’t!”
“Okay, okay, fine,” he smiled, his eyes still closed.
I brought my left hand up, index finger poking at the shadow of his dimple. He opened his right eye, gazing at me questioningly, “Can I help you?”
“Nope,” I said cheerfully, popping the ‘p’, “I’m good.”
“Good,” he groaned and nestled his face further into the pillow, hiding himself from my view. I decided to be playful and not let him know that I was slightly shaken—actually, very shaken—by the events that had taken place last night. So I pouted dramatically, ruffling up his hair.
“Harry,” I whined.
“What?” he whined back, making me smile; I tried to lift his head from the pillow, but he just groaned again and buried himself even deeper into the fluffy material.
I scoffed dramatically and smacked the back of his head, earning a muffled, “Ow!” which made me laugh.
“That’s what you get,” I stuck my tongue out at him, and he just tightened his grip around me, crushing our bodies together and making it hard for me to breathe, my chest pressed tightly against his.
“Can’t breathe,” I choked out, and he finally lifted his head from the pillow, shooting me a cheeky grin, “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes widening innocently, and I made a face, slapping his arm so that he’d release me.
He did no such thing; instead he began leaning towards me, lips looking so tempting.
“Stop!” I laughed, pushing away from him. He sulked, sticking his bottom lip out cutely, “Aw, why?”
“You have morning breath!” I pointed at him, “And I’m pretty sure I do too! At least brush your teeth before you kiss me.”
He threw the covers off of himself, sliding out of bed and grumbling something about ‘hygienic paranoia’, making me laugh. As he made his way over to the bathroom, I sat up and I studied him, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. I’d been right—he was wearing sweatpants. I studied his backside for a moment, marvelling at how tanned and fit it was before he yelled out. “Stop staring!”
I couldn’t help but to snicker lightly.
I heard the sound of running water, and fell back down onto the bed, sprawling my arms out and staring up at the ceiling, remembering everything that had happened last night with painful clarity. Great, I was so rattled up now.
After a minute, I rolled onto my stomach, burying my face into the plush pillow and inhaling the wonderful, cool scent of spearmint. Holy crap, he was not making this easier for me. I knew last night I’d felt something, but it hadn’t fully developed yet. I needed a bit of time.
Just then, something heavy was on top of me. I shrieked and tried turning around, but Harry just chuckled. He eventually lifted himself, planting his knees on the bed beside my hips, hands next to my head, simply hovering over me now.
“And may I ask what the fuck you’re doing?” I questioned sassily. He chuckled and then blew air towards me, making me catch a whiff of mint—toothpaste.
He grinned cheekily at me, “My teeth are brushed, mum.”
“Shut up,” I scoffed, smacking his arm. He leaned down to kiss me but I threw my hand over his mouth again, making him freeze, “What about me? My teeth aren’t brushed yet.”
He rolled his eyes and shook my hand off. “Fuck that,” he practically growled, and then he was kissing me.
His mouth tasted indeed like toothpaste, the taste so raw and new that it made my tongue sting with the coldness of the mint. I sighed into the kiss and then felt red-hot embarrassment creep up my neck and cheeks.
If he noticed, he didn’t make a note of it, simply leaning down even further, letting our bodies brush in as close of a proximity as they could without him completely lying atop me. My fingers ran through his hair—just like last night—unable to get enough of the waves and curls. I played with the small hairs on the nape of his neck, my fingertips brushing up against the coolness of the chain around his neck.
“Mm,” I pulled back—finally—and pursed my lips. He didn’t stop though; simply moving down to my neck and peppering small kisses to that same area he’d tortured last time. I winced when I felt his lips against the skin.
“Harry,” I said quietly, gripping his shoulders.
“Mm?” he hummed against my throat, and I tapped his back a few times, “I’m hungry.”
He pulled back, looking at me. His eyes were hooded, a slightly darker green, filled with lust. His hair was now stuck in a messy quiff, thanks to my roaming fingers, a few teeny strands resting on his forehead. His lips were parted; fanning my face with his newly minty breath, making my heart beat just a little bit quicker.
“Well then,” he said slowly, his lips curving up into a small smirk, “Don’t want my girl getting hungry now, do we?”
“No, we do not,” I stuck my tongue out at him, but he was quick to wrap his lips around it, sucking on it playfully. I pressed my lips to his again momentarily before pulling back again, and he groaned, rolling off of me and standing up.
I followed his lead, crossing my arms over my body when I realised the lack of a bra.
He seemed to notice that I was mildly uncomfortable, because he took my hands and put them around his neck, exposing my body again. His right hand was on my hip, left hand cupping my chin, “You’re beautiful, you idiot.”
I laughed and pulled away, heading into the washroom to brush my teeth, even though we were going to have breakfast now—you know, just in case I got to kiss him some more.
I heard him chuckle and leave his room, padding downstairs to start on our meal. I reached for a spare toothbrush in the drawer and squeezed some toothpaste out of the tube, proceeding to turn on the faucet and bring the brush to my lips.
After I was finished, I spit one last time into the sink and let the water run, and then I set the toothbrush back down on the counter. I slipped out of the washroom and Harry’s room and made my way downstairs, already smelling something delicious.
In the kitchen, Harry had his back to me, humming slightly and standing over the stove. I leaned on the doorway, taking this time to properly study him. He was without a shirt, the sweatpants hanging low on his hips, revealing to me the band of his Calvin Klein boxers.
His feet were bare, hair on the back of his head ruffled and messy, partially obscuring the silver chain hanging from his throat.
I bit the inside of my cheek when he brought his arms up to stretch. His biceps flexed and the muscles in his back bulged.
I don’t know if it was just because he sensed someone watching him or if he’d heard the small squeaking noise that I’d emitted, but he turned. When he saw me standing there, he grinned and me and stepped aside, gesturing to the stove, “Pancakes? Bacon?”
“My two best friends,” I replied, and he laughed.
I couldn’t help but to smirk as I made my way over to the stove, studying the golden-brown pancakes in the pan, and the bacon lying beside them, sizzling.
“This looks really good,” I mumbled to myself. He heard me and chuckled, and immediately my head whipped up to look at him; I was smiling sheepishly, since I hadn’t been intending for him to hear that.
“Thank you, love,” he said, and he pressed a kiss to my cheek. I cleared my throat and looked away after he’d pulled back. I could see him frown from the corner of my eye, looking like he wanted to pry into something but he wasn’t sure if it would be wise; well, that was definitely a first.
“Are you okay?” he asked me softly, fingers coming up to push hair away from my eyes. I nodded but still didn’t look at him.
He sighed, “No, you’re not.”
I made a frustrated sound and stepped back, placing my palms on the counter beside the stove and using the leverage to hop up and sit on the smooth marble surface. Harry just sighed again, grabbing a spatula from in the drawer and sliding it under the pancakes, flipping them swiftly. After he’d done so, he set the tool down and turned to me.
“Was it because of what I said?” he asked me quietly, seriously.
He grabbed my knees and spread them, moving to occupy the space between my legs, sending warm jolts to my area down there.
For a moment I was confused, and then I quickly caught on to what he was implying. I bit my lip, my silence being confirmation enough.
He gritted his teeth sadly, shaking his head, “I knew it was too soon.”
My head snapped up, wide eyes meeting his. I shook my head, imitating him, but my movement was rushed, vigorous. “No,” I managed to get out, “I mean—”
I put a hand on his cheek: an action surprising both of us. He looked up at me, eyes confused. I tried again, “I—I liked it when you said it. It just took me by surprise, that’s all. I—I don’t know what you expect, and you’re older, so I just—”
He smirked slightly, and my voice faltered.
“I already told you,” he began, “I don’t expect you to say it back unless—unless you want to, or if you feel ready. God, Cassidy, I just wanted to tell you, because it was killing me. As for the age, I’m not that much older, you know. Only one year.”
I sighed and nodded, knowing he was right. It suddenly felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders, as if I’d been reassured enough times to know that he actually meant the words that came out of his mouth. I grabbed onto his shoulders abruptly and pulled his body to mine, grazing his lips with mine. He was surprised for a moment but then quickly reciprocated, his large hands landing on my thighs.
“Thank you, Harry,” I told him sincerely, my breath hitting his face once we’d pulled back.
He smiled encouragingly at me and stepped back, resuming his position by the stove, glancing over at me once and winking at me. I looked down but smiled nonetheless and pushed myself forward, hopping off of the counter.
“I think it’s ready,” he told me simply.
I nodded, shooting him a small smile; I turned to rummage through his cupboards for two plates. Once I found them, I held them both out. Harry mounted a few pancakes onto each plate, never failing to flourish the spatula when he finished, making me chuckle.
I set the plates down and looked down, pulling open the cutlery drawer and gathering two forks and two knives. I jumped slightly when I felt a pair of warm arms wrap around my mid-section, but he calmed me by pressing his lips to the side of my head.
And then…
“I love you,” he whispered to me, and I smiled.
Notes
Sorry for taking so long! I have exams next week and the amount of homework is insane! I won't be able to update this story or 'Incomplete' until the end of exams. My apologies! :(VOTE, COMMENT and SUBSCRIBE! Let's reach 130 votes! And comment! They make my day!
Random fact: The longest human pregnancy on record is 17 months, 11 days.
~Abstinence is key, children~
I haven't forgotten about this story. Please update soon!!
10/25/15