HAPPY NEW YEAR :D (Patreon)

As promised, a little bit of friends to lovers (mostly they just have sex!!) 

Have a happy new year and all of you stay safe! Love you all lots :) 

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“Harry, pleaseeeeeeeeee!” 

“Oi, why would I want to rub your back to bring in me New Year, huh?” 

Y/N pouts at him, brows dipping in as she’s sat on the ground with her arms crossed over the coffee table, “What kind of friend are you, if you can’t work the knots out of my back?” 

In retrospect, Y/N knows she’s being whiny, but Harry’s keen on her whiny she finds. He’ll play it up like she’s irritating him but he always gives in -- always rolls his eyes playfully before giving in and doing what she’s pleading him to. If he does it in front of their other friends they accuse him of being whipped like cream frosting, like when all she had to do for him to go out and get her a burger despite it being one in the morning, was to look at him all doe-eyed and complain about being hungry. Their friend’s -- Cal more specifically -- tittered and teased him, wondering aloud when he’s just going to ask her out since he’s already taken the role of a love struck husband, but Harry merely waved it off and went out for her burger (even bringing back fries and a shake that she hadn’t asked for but accepted with a big smile). 

It’s not as if it’s one sided though; she does plenty for Harry, he just never gets the chance to ask her to do it. Like when she plays with his hair if he lies his head on her thigh, carding her fingers through the silky strands until his eyes flutter shut. Or when he’s in a rather foul mood -- a terrible grump he can be -- so she’ll make him tea and watch as the furrow in his brows lifts as he relaxes. Or when he’s stressing too much about the new album, she’s awful good at easing his tense shoulders, not bringing up the fact that he is worrying and instead turning on music for them to dance to until he’s resorted to giggles and comfort. 

They actually hadn’t been meant to spend New Year’s Eve by themselves; tomorrow morning they were supposed to fly out from his London home (he’d taken her there because he bought a few new pieces of art and furniture he wanted her opinion on) and they were going to fly back to meet everyone in Los Angeles for a small little party. However, they had no account for the weather which ended up including ice and snow falling from the overcast, and sleet covered streets. Meaning Harry’s pilot wasn’t keen on flying in it if not necessary, and the drive to the airport wasn’t worth chancing veering off the road. 

So they would be spending New Year’s with one another, including an endless amount of channels to sift through, and his expensive, fancy schmancy wine that he had popped open for the occasion. Were both of them a little bummed they were unable to meet up with the others? Sure, but it’s not like she was stuck with an asshole or something, she was stuck with her best friend both of them three glasses of wine in, so it wasn’t that much of a miss. 

Her only problem was it was taking much longer than usual to coax him into rubbing her back. 

“What makes you think I wanna do any kind of work, hmm?” He teases, tilting the rim of his glass up and staining his lips red with the wine (Y/N will never understand how he drinks it without his face skewering any -- his stuff is far too pungent for her, it takes everything in her to swallow for the most part), sighing heavily, “Your resolutions should be to quit whining and to incorporate more veggies into your diet.” 

Y/N huffs, “Your resolution should be to be nicer!” 

With a roll of his eyes, he kicks his feet off the table and nods to the ground, to which Y/N grins -- she’d won out, “I need to be nicer?” He grumbles as she scrambles towards the ground, taking a couch pillow with her and assuming position on the hand woven wool and polyester shag rug he’d boldly gotten in white, close to the fireplace where he’d been feeding the flames log wood like a proper winter cabin husband (she’d let him know this and it makes him -- like many things she says to him -- roll his eyes) . The heat of it licks her skin warm and she sinks into the soft fur of the rug as he tosses another log in, still chastising her words, “Tha’s rich comin’ from you,” he murmurs, setting his wine on the coffee table with a soft clink before he lowers and she feels him straddle her back, scooting so his bum rested on her thighs, “Bloody demon.” 

Y/N can’t think up a proper retort because the heels of his palms dig into the center of her back and a groan leaves her parted lips instead, and she can hear the smirk in Harry’s voice when he inquires, “Feel good?” 

She reaches back and lamely swats his thigh before humming, “Mhm” anyway. He goes up the length of her spine, over the slope of her shoulders before hooking his fingers around them, his thumbs running in deep circles. Y/N reckons if Harry wanted to stop giving her massages then he wouldn’t keep being so good at them and he surely wouldn’t have wiggled his fingers tantalizingly when she’d complained of a sore back and spilled the beans that he had learned a few techniques from a Thai massage therapist. It also didn’t help his case that he had such nice, thick fingers and strong palms -- in another life she swears he’d be an esteemed massage therapist or something (maybe in porn too, which again -- got her another eye roll). 

When she wiggles her hips at him, it’s his cue that she wants him to go lower and he does. Shapes his hands at her hips and rubs short, deep circles in the spot where her bum and back meet. They’d been friends going on two -- three years, he could touch her arse no problem, but that doesn’t mean it stops her from getting a little worked up. By no means was she tricking him into it to get herself off -- her lower back was truly sore -- but the little twinkle in her abdomen is all the same. 

“Christ,” he murmurs, “Hate to see how you are in bed if you’re this vocal for a simple massage.”

His tease does not fall on deaf ears, taking Y/N from her relaxed state, she tilts her cheek to the side, “There you go being mean again! I’ll have you know m’quiet as a mouse in bed,” she counters, trying her best to ignore how that little twinkle threatens to spark up fiercer when he chuckles low and warm, letting it vibrate through her body.

“Sure,” he utters sarcastically as he moves to the hem of her shirt, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric to work on her bare warm skin and it’s enough to make her take a deeper breath, “And I just hate a blowie.” 

“Harry --” she begins to grumble but he only cuts her off.

“If you can lie, so can I.” 

She would sit up and grump at him but she’s enjoying the touch of his hands far too much so she makes do from where her face is, though she does kick her leg up to knock her heel into his back as a warning, “Okay, Dr. Seuss, m’telling the truth!” There’s a moment she pauses, shuffling some, “Y’know they’ve all been lackluster, I just don’t -- I don’t moan,” as close as they are and as deep as they can dig into one another’s lives, Y/N can’t shake feeling sheepish bringing sex up around him. No, he’s not some sex god, and there’s been a few times where she’s fairly sure he might cry after being so intimate with someone given how emotional he can be -- but he was far more experienced than her. The few times they’d gotten drunk enough to delve into their sex stories, Harry had proved to be nothing short of well rounded while Y/N had been stuck with one note missionary men. 

A drunk Harry had once told her if she wants to experiment his body is free for the taking (he’d added a sloppy kiss to her cheek to punctuate his point) but she’d never found the gall to ask him. 

Harry’s quiet for a moment -- reflective almost -- as he continues to rub her back and she wonders if she should’ve brought it up at all. He probably just feels sorry for her and she doesn’t think she can take it -- she’d hate that. Him feeling sorry for her is always what she’d imagined he’d feel if he had found out about the deep seated crush she had long since buried for the sake of it not getting in the way of their friendship. 

But then he’s tutting his tongue, the pressure he’d once been applying to her back now gentle grazes from his fingertips, eliciting goosebumps to rise in the wake of them, “You’ve gotta tell blokes what they like, Moppet, not all of ‘em are smart,” he tells her, fingers slipping down near her sides and she shivers as he goes upwards, moving back towards her back before he could stroke against the side of her breasts, “You have no problem tellin’ me what you like.” 

“I know, I know, s’just --” she tries to sort her mind together, desperately trying to disregard how nice this feels and how warm its making her, “--I feel bad, is all --” 

Harry fakes a gasp, “She has feelings!” 

She hits him with her heel again before continuing, “They just seem like they’re having a good time and they’re all confident they’re making me feel good, I’d feel a little guilty for telling ‘em they’re shit. It feels like I’d throw them in an existential crisis.” 

“You’re pleasure is important too,” he reminds her and if it's possible she can hear him shaking his head, “When’s the last time someone’s gotten you off?”

Her silence speaks volumes, and it only takes a few moments of this before Harry says carefully, “Never?”

“Don’t make fun --” she begins but he cuts her off. 

“No, no, I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t ever -- that’s -- jesus, that’s jus --” 

“Depressing? Sad? Heartbreaking?” 

“-- that jus’ won’t do.” 

Y/N makes a squawky noise when his hands leave, reappearing at her sides and flipping her around so that she was on her back and he was still straddling her, “How are they not noticing you aren’t cumming?” 

She wants to crawl under a rock, turning her head so she faces towards the fire -- she can’t bare to see that solemn look in his eyes, like she might be some charity case, “I put on a good show of it I guess -- or they don’t care enough to actually check.” 

A careful, warm hand slides up to her face, his palm cradling her cheek as he tilts her head back to facing him. Though instead of a sad gaze, he looks more distraught. . .determined in a way, “Do you --” he begins, slipping his tongue out and sliding it around his lips, “I can help? Do you want me to help?” 

“Don’t mess with me Harry --” she starts shaking her head but Harry is shaking his head too.

“I’m not! I’d never,” he appears unglued, truly upset with the fact that nobody has ever made her orgasm during sex and she is sort of living for it, “I just want you to experience it you’re -- you don’t deserve that.” His hands are beneath her shirt again, gentle fingertips at his hips, “Let me help?” 

Y/N knows that it’s most likely against her better judgement as she nods, because there’s no reason to do something that might deepen the roots of these feelings that she already had. However, it’s hard to think about any kind of consequences regarding her emotions when Harry is looking at her, with his cheeks flushed and eyes wide as he slips his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants. She hikes her bum up off the ground to help him, mind swimming with how inconceivably gentle he was being as he drags them down her legs, helping her kick them off. 

“Can’t believe this,” he says in disbelief, “What kind of prats have ya been with, can’t get you off?” She sucks her lips into her mouth, wetting them with a small snuffle, shrugging her shoulders, “Just imagined you would be so demanding in bed.” 

“Well I’m sorry m’not this perfect sexual being!” She huffs, brows tilted up, not only feeling overwhelmed by the fact that he had imagined it to some degree, but that she had destroyed the fantasy if there had been one. What if Harry had thought about her being all dominant, manhandling him in bed, pulling his pants off and bossing him around -- it’s no secret Harry likes when people get grabby with him (in a setting that he’d like).  Maybe it made him soft that she wasn’t some authoritative carnal being. 

Harry’s eyes go wide, “No, no, no,” he climbs up towards her face, hands on either side of her head, and he’s so close -- she can smell the wine on his breath and see the glassiness of his eyes, “Nothing to apologize fo’, you’re perfect.” 

He hovers for a little, though he leans in slow, giving her a chance to tell him no but when she doesn’t -- when her heart is hammering against her chest and her breathing shakes -- he bends down and pushes his lips against hers. His lips are sticky and the taste of the wine is faint on his lips and when he draws back after a small moment, looking down to her mouth and back to her eyes, “This is okay?” He questions and Y/N nods, before he leans back in and this time he slips his tongue against hers gently. 

Y/N whines around his tongue some, the heat of the fire seeming cool compared to the warmth of her insides, and she feels Harry smiles into the kiss. There was something so intense about this moment -- she’s been kissed before of course, but she’d never kissed Harry. And Harry knows what he’s doing; he nibbles at her lips tenderly, their tongues rolling together, his fingertips stroking down her sides, gripping her nearly bare hips, his thumbs digging at the dip near her hip.

When he parts the second time it’s to slide down lower, tilting her chin to the side and licking the salty skin at a patch of her throat, “Harry,” he hums against her and her toes curl, “You don’ -- I don’t want you to do this jus’ ‘cos you feel bad, yeah? That’d make me feel like shit,” she quivers as he pushes her shirt up, over the round of her breasts, revealing the prosaic cotton bra she was wearing, “Like. . .like only if you wanna --” 

“Pet,” he murmurs against her skin, sliding his fingers beneath her back and unclicking her bra, “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.” 

“You’ve done it before.” 

It’s true -- Harry had; he’s too nice and far too soft when it comes to making someone happy. Ever the people pleaser, he’s gotten into bed with people he didn’t particularly want to solely because he knew that it would make them feel good and she didn’t want to be one of those. Didn’t want to be a swept under the rug pity fuck. 

He pauses, looking up to her, and without a beat he takes her by the wrist and draws it down to the crotch of his pants. Her eyes go wide when she feels him -- he’s hard in his trousers, a large bulge that makes her unintentionally clench. While she remembers that Harry has slept with people to make them feel better, he had also shed her in on the fact that he had to pray they didn’t notice he wasn’t hard until at least a twenty minute session of kissing to warm himself up.

But right now, he was full and thick, straining against the fabric. 

“‘ve been hard since you started being so whiny,” he admits to her, tutting his tongue and lying her wrist back to her side, helping her lift out of her shirt before tugging her bra the rest of the way off, so now she’s spread out for him bare except for her panties, “As much as I hate to admit it, love when you’re a little brat.”

She grumbles, “You’re too much, fuck sake,” her thighs squeeze together tightly, “Too good at this.” 

Harry chuckles again, warm, dripping down her insides as his hands cup her tits, massaging them carefully and Y/N bites down hard on her bottom lip, especially when his thumb and forefinger come to twist and pull at her nipples, “Don’t hide your noises, yeah? Wanna hear ‘em.” 

She nods her head, lips parting when he leans down only to pull the tip of her nipple between his teeth, and her back arches up with a gasp, “Jesus!”  Drawing it into his mouth, he suckles and wets them, her hands move to his hair, fingers digging into curls and he hums low against her, popping off her nipple with a grin. His fingers lower to her underwear, dragging the cotton down and off her legs easily. Taking her by the soft of her thighs, she pushes them open, “Beautiful,” he murmurs lowly, almost like he’s speaking to himself, “Gorgeous lil’ thing -- you’re already so swollen n’wet, can’t believe anybody is lettin’ ya leave unsatisfied.” Harry strokes his thumb over the swell of her clit, running it over in tight little circles and her thighs twitch, a soft little noise leaving her mouth and his eyes glow up, “There she is!” 

“Stop!” She exclaims and covers her face, but he only titters and sinks two fingers into her hole easily and Y/N twitches and pulses around him. 

“It was so pretty, Lovie, do more fo’ me,”  he murmurs, he hooks his fingers up against the spongy spot inside of her, dragging another noise from her her fingers digging into the rug, twisting up in it and had it been any cheaper he would’ve come away with tufts of white between her fingers, “Yeah? Like when I pet against this soft lil bump?” She nods, another moan leaving her as her thighs try to squeeze shut but Harry uses his free hand to keep her open for him. 

She’s beginning to sweat, partly from what’s happening, partly from the fire, even more so when his thumb comes into contact with her swollen bud again, rolling it beneath his thumb again, “Harry,” she breathes in, toes curling and her feet tilting in towards each other, “You -- what. . .what ‘bout you?” 

“Don’t worry bout me, this is about you.” 

“Wanna see you though,” she all but whimpers, hips bucking forward when the hood of her clit lifts some and he rubs directly on it, “Please?” 

A grin drags at his mouth, working with one hand on popping the button of his trousers and unzipping it, shoving his pants down just enough to show his prick and get his other hand around himself, his bum pressed to his heels. He’s leaking some from the tip and the sight of him makes her squeeze tight around his fingers, and he smiles, “Naughty thing -- ya like my cock?” 

“Yes,” she cries out when he starts fucking into her with his fingers at the same pace that he’s sliding his hand over his prick, “G’na cum, I think.” 

Harry groans loud and it pushes her closer to the edge, “Already?” He’d inquired, as she watches him work over the fat ruddy head, slick with precum and when he lets a string of spit level down to the thick shaft, and her thighs squeeze around his hand, restricting his movements some but she’s mewling and whining and moaning as her orgasm builds, builds, and builds until she’s cumming and she’s cumming hard. Her hand shoots down to hold onto his wrist as he continues fucking into her, and he slows his hand on himself as he slows his hand on hers, working her through it. 

Y/N’s eyes are wet, her limbs shaky as she comes down from it and Harry is smiling down at her, “Good?” He asks and she nods, “Y’made noise for me.” He adds in and she huffs through her nose at him, moving as much as she could through her orgasm weakened muscles to where he was still sitting on the carpet, dragging the hair from her face as she positioned in front of his cock, “Oh, Lovie, you don’t --” 

“Want to.” She murmurs, “Can I?” 

When Harry nods, she wastes no time fitting the head into her mouth, mewling around him and his heady taste -- she doesn’t have to work all too hard though, because it only takes her tonguing at his slit and suckling at the head while another hand snuck down to squeeze at his balls -- before he’s cumming. Hot and thick, emptying in her mouth with a keening groan that would put a porn star to shame, she’s certain of it and she swallows it all greedily, until he begins to soften in between her lips. 

After she pulls back, she doesn’t go very far, only dimly aware that she’s still stark naked when she rests her head against his thigh and Harry cards his fingers through her hair, running the pad of his thumb over the soft of her cheek. “Just needed a bit of attention, that’s all,” he rubs over her lip, breathing a laugh when she sticks her tongue out to lick it, “This new year, you ever need’a cum and you don’t want to do it yourself, then you come to me, okay?” 

Y/N nods, nestling into his palm. 

“Kay,” she murmurs dreamily.