Perfect Teeth

Thanksgiving was not a thing that was had in the UK, but if there was one thing my mother was adamant about, it was having me home for the holiday. She didn’t put her foot down on much when it came to my life and my decisions, but she was determined when it came to Thanksgiving. Especially when I told her that I no longer had classes, just a two-week study period that went into December to prepare for finals.

“Do you want me to e-mail your boss?” She asked, clipped tone full of exasperation as she sighed into the phone. “Because I will. Emphasizing the importance of Thanksgiving and family.”

“That won’t be necessary.” I rolled my eyes, glad that she couldn’t see me, and sighed into my seat. I was on the third floor of the library, backed into a corner cubicle that looked out onto a parking lot and a portion of the London skyline. “Considering I’m nineteen and not six, you don’t have to talk to my boss for me. I’ll just figure it out.” I rubbed my forehead in frustration as I pulled up my calendar on my computer and squinted at the dates.

Technically, I was free of classes. There were two planned study groups (one for my chemistry class, one for media communications), six deadlines, and three work commitments all scheduled for the week leading up to Thanksgiving. Yes, logistically, I could shuffle them around. I could skip out on the study groups if I worked hard on my own and I could spend an entire day prefilming for Tongue in Cheek if there was a problem rescheduling. It was just that I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to ruin an entire week of planning and organization, especially when I was just starting to get into a rhythm that was accomplishing all of my schoolwork and video work, and giving me adequate socialization (read: tending to Harry’s needy ass and Nick’s constant request that I meet him for brunch after The Breakfast Show ended). It was Thanksgiving – yay for food, but nay for the premise really, and I had plans to fly home for Christmas anyway.

“Can I fly in Wednesday night and leave Thursday night?” I thought out loud, already pulling up the Expedia page.

“Do you hate us that much?” My mom questioned. “That we don’t even get a full three days?”

I narrowed my eyes at the computer screen. “Thanks for the guilt trip.” I said. “Shouldn’t you be proud that I have a life and a job and am busy being mildly successful?”

“I’ll be more proud of you when I can see you in the flesh. And what’s the point of being successful if you can’t use some of that money to visit your dear old mom and pop?”

“Dear old mom and pop?” I scoffed. “Please. Dad sent me a text the other day telling me that Ezra Koenig’s twitter was funnier than mine and that I needed to step up my game.” It especially pissed me off because I was the one who told him who Ezra Koenig was in the first place, and then he goes and betrays me like that.

“He just wants you at your best.” I could sense her grinning over the phone.

“What about if I get in Wednesday night and leave Friday night? Is that good?”

“And risk driving in Black Friday traffic? You should leave Saturday.”

“That like, triples the cost of my flight.”

“Then leave Sunday.”

“Mum.”

“What? If you really want to be cost effective, you should fly out on Tuesday. And leave Monday. We would get you for an entire six days!”

“I have studying to do! Projects to finish!” I protested.

“Study on the plane.” She said easily. “And I promise that we’ll give you time to yourself while you’re here.”

“No you won’t.” I dismissed easily. “You’ll keep dragging me to the movies that Dad didn’t want to go to and Dad’ll make me go with him to eat all of the Indian food that you hate and then you’ll invite all of your friends over for dinner and parade me around like a show dog. I remember last Thanksgiving break and I was only forty-five minutes away then.”

“Ezra,” she used her soft, guilt-laden voice on me. “Please come home. I miss you.” That broke me. She and Harry could never, ever meet, because together the two of them could break me down so easily. There was no home for firm, resolute Ezra, especially around guilt-tripping Marta Callil and drunk, cuddly Harry Styles.

“Fine.” I sighed, conceding. “I’ll work out the flight details and forward you the information, but you’ll get me for at least five days. Are you satisfied?”

“Pleasantly so!” She said. “Now get to booking and I’ll get to work. Talk to you later!”

“Bye, mom.”

“Bye, Ezzie. Love you!”

“Love you too, ma.”



Ezra Callil @ezracallil
The poetry section in barnes & noble is directly across from the romance section how am I supposed to be ~cool and ~literary w/ SO MANY DISTRACTING WAXED CHESTS

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
Pretended 2 look cool & browse poetry, really watching the ppl buying 50 Shades (& similar) books this is fun

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
Count is 3 women, 2 men, one elderly couple. idk what to do with this information but it’s there

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
New life goal: end every declarative statement with an always appropriate and well-timed “am I right ladies??” bc obviously ‘the things I say only relate to girls’

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
ex: “Ranch would go really well with these onion rings. Am I right ladies???” “Antifreeze is always a good idea for colder temps. Am I right ladies??”

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
“Those plummeting stock market numbers really put a damper on my holiday spirits. Am I right ladies??”

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
Also if u didn’t catch that that is my satirical response to a g8 article declaring that I am “mediocre” and spew things that “only preteen girls like”

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
@theatlantic thanks for the belittlement. sexist assholes suck AM I RIGHT LADIES??? *hella hard eyeroll*

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
Apparently there is a rly g8 chinese food place 5 min from my flat AND I AM JUST NOW FIGURING THIS OUT

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
review on yelp: “so good it even tasted good when I threw it back up” this sounds like my kinda joint

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
Shout out to the drunk yelp reviewers don’t know where I’d be w/o u in my life

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
Probs still sittin on my couch crying over airfare/exams but WITHOUT THE IMMINENT ARRIVAL OF VOMIT-APPROVED CHINESE and that’s no place to be

Jenni @jennipenni
@ezracallil ARE YOU GOING TO THE US FOR 1D DAY IS THAT WHERE YOU’RE GOING?

Ezra Callil @ezracallil
@jennipenni nah I’m going back to CT for Thanksgiving bc the parentals are adamant nothing nearly as fun as 1D Day (kidding mom love you)



I was a productivity machine on the week before I was supposed to leave for home. We were in the weird reading weeks before finals, an entire two weeks off from any formal class meetings that were supposed to be for finishing final projects and studying. Normally the majority of those two weeks were actually spent trying to do work and procrastinating on the internet, but after having to rearrange all of my plans (thanks, mom, you’re a real peach), I actually got productive and cracked down. My computer was probably going to kick it eons earlier than it needed to thanks to being constantly on as I edited/uploaded videos for both my channel and my film class, finished a presentation and a paper for media communications, and double checked my final project for chemistry, but I’d gotten more shit done in two days than I might have previously in two weeks. By eight o’clock on Tuesday night, I had everything but one video to finish editing and was rewarding myself with a glass of wine and hopefully a long soak in the tub.

I was standing in the middle of my flat in nothing but my knickers, wine bottle in one hand and steak knife in the other, when Harry let himself in using the spare key he’d stolen from underneath the doorframe a few days earlier. I looked up at him in surprise, steak knife poised, and his own widened eyes and surprised expression mirroring mine.

He looked quite shocked, probably because I was wearing nothing but a pair of polka dotted underwear and my I Really Need to Do Laundry Bra (the underwire liked to stab me in the heart, so it was reserved for times in which all of my others bras were desperately in need of a wash), and the knife in my hand was like, six inches thick and could slice through a man pretty easily, if it ever came down to that.

“Hi?” He shut the door behind him slowly, looking between it and me for a second. Probably wondering if he should make a run for it now rather than later.

“I don’t have a corkscrew.” I said in way of explanation, holding up the wine bottle, cork still intact, as proof. “And Google said I could use a knife.”

“Not without probably killing yourself.” Harry crossed towards me quickly, holding his hand out expectantly for the wine and knife. “You’re supposed to brace the bottle on something.”

I handed both items over to him and shrugged. “Obviously it wasn’t the best tutorial.”

“Why do you have wine but not a corkscrew?” He asked, as he sat the bottle down on my kitchen counter and very precisely stuck the tip of the knife in the top, wiggling it around.

“It was a gift.” I answered. “And I don’t know. I have like four pieces of cookware and a corkscrew didn’t happen to be one of them.”

“I’ll put it on your Christmas list.” He mused.

“Much thanks.”

“Next question,” he continued, and then, with another seemingly expert hand jiggle and tug, the cork was successfully removed from the wine.

“Why’re you just in your pants? Not that I’m complaining. Actually, I think I’m in the opposite of complaining, as it saves me from some work, but ‘m still curious. Did you have plans for later tonight?”

He said the words quickly, ending them with an awkward pause that seemed to slightly fill us with tension. The way he said ‘plans’ almost felt like he was insinuating something else, and the way he wasn’t quite looking at me caused me to pause for a second.

“Plans?” I repeated.

“Prior engagements.” He elaborated a little, and he moved his head a little to maybe look at me, but I was looking down at the counter, brows furrowed, trying to figure out why he was suddenly acting weird. Or weirder than normal Harryish behavior. “Things to do, people to see.” People to do, things to see.

“Are you trying to ask me if I had plans to have sex with someone else tonight?” I asked slowly, taking the wine bottle from his hands and pouring a generous amount in an oversized mug. I had two types of cups – cheap, plastic, purple ones from Ikea, and three oversized mugs that worked a variety of angles (cereal, soup, tea, oatmeal, etc.). I figured the mugs were the classier of the two, considering I didn’t have wine glasses, because at least they were ceramic and not plastic.

Harry didn’t say anything, but I didn’t give him much time to. I didn’t know if I’d targeted what he was trying to say, or maybe I was assuming something completely different, but the way he wasn’t looking at me directly in the eye was seriously freaking me out.

“Because I don’t? I was planning to have a bath but then I realized the wine had a cork and not a twist off cap and that’s why I’m out here in my underwear.” I spoke quickly, slightly nervous, embarrassed, because what if that’s not what he meant and I was suddenly making a big deal out of something that didn’t exist?

Harry grabbed a cup from next to the sink, looked inside to make sure it was clean (it was clean!) and then poured himself some wine. “Oh.” He looked down at his glass as he responded, taking a beat. “Cool. Good.”

“Good?”

There was a weird, palpable awkwardness between us, and I took another large gulp of my wine to occupy myself for a moment as I peered at Harry over the rim of my mug. I hadn’t seen him in the past two days, as he was off being busy with his lunches and meetings and flitting from place to place, and I was off actually working and being productive like I’d been before the little shit ever entered my life. Why were things awkward now? What did good mean? Like, good that I wasn’t sleeping with anyone else? I had kind of thought that was implied?

Except maybe it wasn’t?

Technically we’d never talked about it. I mean, really, we hadn’t talked about any of it, this whole physical intimacy thing between Harry and I. We just made a lot of stupid jokes and kept doing it, but suddenly I was struck with the question of if he was doing it with anyone else.

“Good that you didn’t have any other plans?” He answered, but it was more of a question than a statement and I didn’t know what to say to that.

Both of us stood there for a moment, Harry scratching the back of his neck and me peering into my wine mug, more awkward moments passing between the two of us, before I opened my mouth.

“I’m like, not having sex with anyone else.” I didn’t know what was going on with my voice, besides the fact that it kind of caught nervously half way through, and I had to clear my throat and take another sip of wine at the end of it. I didn’t even know if the wine was good or not, but I kept taking sips in hopes that it would work faster and be slightly calming.

Harry shifted a bit on his feet, before looking up and meeting my eye. “I’m--,” he ran two fingers along his bottom lip as he spoke, rubbing back and forth in a way that made it impossible not to look at his lips. “I’m not either.”

“Okay.” I nodded and took a deep breath. “Good.” I think. “Like, I mean, I know we never talked about it or anything, and I mean like, you can totally have sex with whoever you want. Maybe just tell me? Don’t tell me during the sex or – I don’t know – I just mean if you’re doing it with other people, maybe that’s something I should – know – maybe – I think? I don’t know.”

“I’m not planning on having sex with anyone else.” Harry replied quickly, shaking his head and finally inching closer to me. “Are you?”

“Um, not really. No.” I replied quickly, easily, and then we both seemed to relax a little. I finished off the last bit of wine in my cup and reached for the bottle again. Apparently drinking wine nervously was a thing I did well.

“Good. That’s good.” He repeated.

“Yeah.” I swallowed. “Good.”

“So you’re planning on a bath, then?” Harry changed the topic quickly, and even though it wasn’t a super smooth subject change, it made us both relax and the tension in the room ease.

He wasn’t having sex with anyone else.

I wasn’t having sex with anyone else.

He was too close and smelled too nice for me to think about this entirely too logically, but I think, maybe, kind of, that meant something? Something good?

Whatever.

Focus on the topics at hand. There would be many hours of travel in my future that could be spent pondering all things Harry Styles.

“I worked like crazy today, so I figured a nice long soak was well deserved.” I confirmed with a shrug.

“Reckon I could join you for that?” Harry asked.

“If you can actually get yourself out of your jeans and into the tub before I’m done, yeah.”

There is an art to the perfect bubble bath. Like there is an art to the perfect milkshake, learning these things takes time, but ultimately pays off in the end. I mean, probably having Harry Styles sitting in my bathtub naked should have (could have) made it the perfect bubble bath anyway, but I had a routine to follow. First there was the setting the right mood lighting, in which I had the strategic placement of four candles on the perimeter of the tub (close enough for an evenly distributed glow, far enough away that I wouldn’t accidentally relax back and set a part of my body on fire) and the shutting off of the awful fluorescent bulbs over the sink. Next there was getting the soapy water perfect, which included an extremely overpriced but nicely smelling bubble bomb from Lush and some cheap bubble bath from Boots, and then lastly was finding the perfect water temperature. I liked my water hot – like, chills and shivers up your spin when you submerge, hot – and as full as you could get without overflowing from the side of the tub.

Ideally, my perfect bubble bath would be in a deep set, claw foot bathtub looking over the lavish London skyline, but I wasn’t making nearly enough money for that, so I had to settle into my slightly shallow, square bath/shower combination in my tiny bathroom that didn’t even have a window, but it was good, because with the lights off it still looked decent enough and Harry was standing next to the toilet, successfully navigating himself out of his clothing.

I set the bottle of wine down next to the tub, my ceramic mug next to it, and then reached behind my back to unhook my bra.

Harry’s hands stopped me, long fingers covering mine as he unhooked the clasp and then moved to slide the straps down my shoulder.

“You can’t eliminate all of my fun.” He said, just as I removed my bra completely from my body and his thumbs hooked into the waistband of my underwear.

“I’m going to be sitting naked with you in a bathtub. I’m not ruining anything.”

“Shhhh.” He pulled my underwear down my thighs slowly, breath tickling my back as he leaned down and dragged them off, past my knees, to my calves, and I had to step out of them slowly as his nose pressed against my back, suppressing a shiver.

He dropped the fabric next to his pile of clothing, pressed a kiss to the side of my neck, and then took a step forward into the tub.

He lowered one foot inside quickly and then hissed as he pulled back. “Are you trying to give me second degree burns?”

“It’s not that hot.”

“Oh, fuck, fuck, ow, yeah, it is!” He raised his one foot that was submerged in the water out, letting it hover over the water as he balanced awkwardly on one foot, hand pressed against the tile wall.

“You’re just a big baby.” I rolled my eyes, stepping beside him and putting my foot in the water, before hastily pulling it out as I let out a corresponding hiss. “Fuck, okay, maybe I overestimated the building’s heating capabilities.” I grimaced, before perching awkwardly on the side of the tub and pressing my feet against the wall.

Harry gave me a look of triumph, before awkwardly maneuvering and sitting down next to me.

I had the brief thought that maybe this wasn’t the most attractive position I’d ever been in, hunched over on the side of my bathtub as I waited for the water to cool down as the tub filled, but Harry was quickly pulling me into a kiss before that thought got too far.

I pressed against him easily, eagerly, keeping one hand on the ledge for balance and allowing the other one to tangle in his hair. I liked running my fingers through the curls when we kissed, scratching my nails lightly against the back of his neck and his scalp in a way that made him groan and hiss and kiss me even deeper.

I hadn’t seen him in two days and maybe if I hadn’t been actively missing him in my head, my mouth surely did.

He pulled back slightly, pressing gentle kiss after kiss to my lips, before separating enough so that he could talk.

“What’d you eat for dinner?” He asked, pink tongue peeking out of his mouth as he ran it over his bottom lip. “Taste garlicky.”

“Breadsticks. And garlic sauce.”

“You only had breadsticks for dinner?”

“It was an entire order of breadsticks, so it counts.”

“Way to keep your breath minty fresh – garlic breadsticks and red wine.”

“You didn’t exactly tell me you were coming over so I could prepare. I reckon I’ve got a bit of armpit stubble too, if you’d like to nitpick. Would you like me to brush my teeth before we continue? Is it just too much for you to handle?”

“Nah,” Harry shook his head as he smiled. “Actually tastes pretty good.” And then he connected our mouths once more, tongue running along the roof of my mouth and tickling my cheeks as he extracted the taste from me slowly, languidly.

“Water’s probably cooled down by now.” I mumbled out between kisses.

“Probably.” He agreed.

But we spent another few minutes kissing on the ledge of the tub, bodies turned towards each other as I scooted closer and closer towards him, before we actually got in the water.

He settled against the back of the tub, back pressed against the wall as he sunk down into the bubbles, and I thought about sitting right up against him, my back pressed against his front, but I wanted to watch the way the light from the candles danced across his stupidly perfect face, so I settled across from him, back inches away from the water faucet. It was still filling the tub, water pooling behind my back, and I waited until it was as far up to the edge as it could possibly get without overflowing if we accidentally jostled before turning it off.

I crossed my legs underneath me, knees barely fitting into the narrow tub comfortably, and Harry tried to stretch his long legs out in front of him. He had to slot them above my own crossed knees, resting his knees and shins on my legs, and I pressed my fingers along the top of his shin, moving underneath the water to feel the hair there.

“You’ve got hairy legs.” I observed, feeling the thick, coarse hairs there.

“Sometimes so do you.”

I shrugged. “Wasn’t saying it was a bad thing, just an observation.”

He laughed.

I ran my nails lightly along the top of his shins, running them farther up, past his knees, until I was gently running my fingers along the middle of his thighs. His legs tensed slightly, but when I looked up at his face, his head was leaned back against the wall and his eyes were closed.

I ran my hands over his legs slowly, making rounds from his shins to his upper thighs, tracing patterns into the firm muscle there, and Harry hummed under the feeling.

“C’mere.” He murmured lowly, mouth barely even opening, and I scooted closer towards him, till his thighs were resting over my legs and there was barely a foot of space between us. His hands, previously resting on the side of the tub, moved up to rest against my neck, both hands cradling the back of my neck running slowly through the hair there. His fingers ran along the side of my neck, down my shoulders and arms, until they rested on my knees and he was slowly pulling them up and pulling me into his lap.

My tub was barely big enough for one person, let alone two (and Harry wasn’t exactly tiny) and it took a few repositions and bumbling adjustments until I was perched comfortably in his lap, my bum resting on his outstretched legs and my own legs wrapped around his back. I could feel him underneath me, the space between our bodies virtually nonexistent, as I rested my arms around his neck and both of his hands settled on my waist. The water lapped around us, bubbles dispersing as we moved, and a fair amount of water overflowed from the tub as we moved.

“When do you leave? Tomorrow?” I asked.

He hummed out a yes, thumbs rubbing small circles into my skin. “Our flight’s in the afternoon, but I have to finish packing in the morning.”

“Do you actually have enough stuff to pack?” I joked.

“Yes, thanks.” He rolled his eyes. “Most of it’s at Lou’s.”

“Why’re you here then?” I ran my hands through his hair and leaned forward, pressing a kiss on his collarbone. “Don’t you have last minute business to attend to?”

“Like what?” His hands moved to my back, trailing up the length of my spine, and I squirmed a little at the ticklish sensation. I scratched lightly at his scalp and Harry let out an appreciative hum, eyes falling closed.

“I dunno.” I shrugged. “Friends to see, dinners to have.”

“Maybe I wanted a relaxing night in.” He suggested. “And maybe I wanted to say goodbye to you before I left.”

“You could’ve sent a text.”

“Nice to know you value time with me so much.”

“I’m just trying to get you to admit that you wanted to have sex.” I continued threading my fingers through his hair, massaging Harry into submission. He was letting out little hums and groans of appreciation, shifting underneath me every so often.

“I would never objectify you like that.” He murmured, head still tilted back.

“Oh come off it.” I rolled my eyes and stopped my fingers. His eyes opened slowly.

“Okay so maybe I wanted to have sex a little.” He admitted.

“Mhm.” I let out a triumphant sound, resuming my work.

“But I would’ve settled for just seeing you.” Harry continued. “Just so you’re aware.”

I said nothing in response to that, just smiled into Harry’s skin as I pressed kisses from one side of the his chest to the other, finding a nice groove in his collarbone to lap at. It was well time he had some retribution for the dozens of marks he’d left on my skin in the last few weeks. At least he’d gotten the message not to leave obvious ones on my neck, but they were still readily abundant everywhere else.

“When do you come back?”

“Next Wednesday.” He hummed.

“I’m going to just miss you before I leave.”

“Wait, what?” He peered down at me as he straightened up a little. “Where are you going?”

“Home for Thanksgiving.” I leaned away from his chest, one hand lowering to gentle feel the mark I’d left there. “My mom was pretty adamant.”

“When’re you leaving?”

“Next Tuesday.”

“To Connecticut?” I was kind of surprised he still remembered.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “But I’m flying into New York Tuesday night. I mean, I still have to book the flight, but that’s the plan.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “We have a plane change Tuesday night in New York, I think, coming back.”

“Maybe I’ll see you in passing?” I questioned, slightly skeptical but still hopeful. It depended on how long his layover was, but I’d probably linger in New York longer than necessary just to catch a few glimpses of Harry, if it wasn’t too hectic.

“Maybe.” Harry hummed. “Or you should just come to LA for 1D Day.”

“Wait, what?” Now it was my turn to repeat the sentiments, stilling in his lap. “But that’s this Saturday.”

“Fly out earlier.” He suggested. “Fly out on Friday. You could catch the flight with me to New York on Tuesday and then your plans haven’t changed with your parents.”

I laughed a little at his hopeful attitude, shaking my head. “Yeah, except there’s probably no seats on your private flight to New York. And that’s like two more plane tickets to purchase. I don’t really have the money for that right now.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged easily. “I’ve got you.”

“Harry—“ I shook my head.

“What? It would be fun. You could do something. Tyler Oakley’s doing something. And you like LA. You’ve told me so.”

His reasoning was so simple, so idealistic, that it almost made me want to laugh.

“I like LA when I have a reason for being there.” I said. “And where would I sleep? Do I have to get a hotel?”

“You have friends. But you could stay with me.” He offered.

“And where are you staying?” I was glancing at him skeptically, still trying to feel out the situation. He’d just invited me to LA. I wasn’t going to be able to go, but he’d still just invited me to LA.

“Ed’s got a place on the beach he was gonna let me crash at. But I could easily get us a hotel, if you’d prefer. See? Sorted.”

“I just--,” I hesitated, running my hands across his chest and then had to pull them away as I focused. “I dunno if it’s a good idea. I have work, y’know? And stuff to finish here.”

“If you really don’t want to go, it’s fine.” Harry said quickly, quietly, and his thumbs moving on my back stopped. “Don’t worry about it. It was just a suggestion.”

“I want to go, that’s the problem.” I admitted. “I just – I have responsibilities, y’know? Like, I already had to push up all of my filming to leave for Thanksgiving, and I’m supposed to have an interview with a magazine next week, and I’d be cutting it really close. It’s not that I don’t want to go, I just can’t.”

“No, yeah, I get it.” He let out a breath and his fingers resumed their movements. “Just thought it’d be fun, but I get it. Maybe I’ll see you in passing on Tuesday night or something. When’re you coming back home?”

The way he said ‘home’ did things to me. I watched his face carefully, trying to figure out if he was offended. Maybe it wasn’t to him, but inviting someone somewhere that big, that far away, would’ve been a huge deal to me. And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to go – it was Harry, it was Los Angeles, it was the ridiculous but very amusing One Direction day, all live streamed. If there was anything Harry and I appreciated, it was a good live stream.

“I’m leaving the following Monday, I think.” I replied, and I pressed my lips to his jaw softly, wanting to soothe my dismissal of his idea. “I don’t have any finals until the week after, but I didn’t want to cut it close.”

“We go back to New York that week.” Harry relaxed a little as I peppered kisses along his jaw line, fingers skating up from my waist to my breasts, cupping them delicately and making me arch into him.

“For how long?”

“Just a week. Then home for the holidays.”

“I’ll see you sometimes in there, then.” I was loosing my ability to concentrate adequately, mind all fuzzy and breathing muddled by his hands and his mouth and his tongue and his teeth.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “If you’re not going to be at 1D Day, you’re going to at least watch it, right?”

“Am I going to give up seven hours of my life to watch you all act like idiots in front of the world?” I tried to sound funny, witty, but it came out all breathy and wrong. “Yeah, probably.”

Harry breathed out a laugh. “You’ll have to text me some pointers before I go on.”

“Read the teleprompter,” I advised, eyes closing as one hand moved from my chest to skirt between my legs. “Don’t tell too many stupid jokes. Try not to fuck it up.”

“Such sage advice.” His volume was dropping as his mouth moved closer to mine.

“How many days until I see you next again?” He asked, just as his fingers dipped into the perfect place between my legs and I jolted.

“Um,” I struggled to think. “Seven. Hopefully.” I stuttered out. “Maybe longer.”

“Reckon I can get you off seven times tonight? To make up for between now and then?”

“Um,” I let out a groan against him. “If you wanted to try and kill me, maybe?” A shuddering breath. “But probably not.”

“Really, you don’t think so?” There might have been an edge to his voice, but I was a bit too distracted to really pick up on it. “Because I’m completely willing to test this hypothesis.”

“I mean,” My breath hitched as I rolled my hips against his. “If you feel that that’s necessary, by all means.”

“I have to now.” Harry replied, just as he seemed to pull me even closer to him. “In the name of science.”



Harry Styles @harry_styles
In the name of science.

you are such a little shit.

Hiiiiiiiiii. ;)

hi. When’s your flight leave?

an hour. I’m in the drive thru at mcdonalds with Niall right now, then we’re off.

also Nick found the marks you left very comical.

tell him I tried.

I will. Also I asked and we have 3 hour layover in NY Tuesday. What time are you in?

flight’s in at a little after five. You?

we’re in at six.

do you want me to wait?

If it doesn’t mess up your travel plans too much, yes. I’ll treat you to some lovely airport dinner.

free food? k, I’m down, hah.

xxx