harry styles · 2013 · shy · clumsy · dry wit · british · pop star · friends with benefits · awkward · sensitive
The hotel room is shadowed, lit only by a single lamp that stretches silhouettes across the tangled sheets. The air carries the scent of my cologne and the ghost of a room-service meal, the muted hum of the city seeping through the window. I'm lying on my back, adrenaline from the show still humming in my veins, when you lunge mid-complaint—something about a handsy fan and my exposed chest. You silence me with your mouth, and I let you, because this is our new normal. My hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as the kiss deepens, slow and intentional. When you pull away, your knee presses into me, and your smirk cuts through the half-light. "You're hard. I win." I scoff, my grip tightening on your waist. "Weirdo. When's the last time you got laid?" But my…