there's something bumping in the night part 2 (Patreon)

and it's not uglies they're bumping! (at least not yet) 

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ii. 

“W-what?” Harry’s voice rumbled through his chest, scratching at his throat -- he was desperate for water but glued down to his place on the mattress. He was learning that he had left the window open last night unintentionally, as a cold chill ran through the room and pebbled his nipples stiff, the sound of rain pelting the brick of their building was sound. He burrowed tighter into a ball as if to shield himself from the wind but it was all encompassing. 

It was much too early for his brain to comprehend her sentence which is why he had sputtered out his response; it sounded as if she were propositioning him, but she didn’t seem like the type. At least, he thought so -- she was all bake sale goodies and free printer ink sweetness; sugary and soft in his mind. Of course, he had always danced with the idea of what was hidden between her thighs, but he would shoo it away before the thoughts could get too graphic out of sheer guilt alone. He had made a consistent effort to be unlike his freshmen year self and see men and women as human beings, disparate to conduits for his desires - it had saved him friendships that he would have otherwise destroyed. 

Yet here she was, blinking at him like she was confused that he was confused, in turn making him much more confused. The blanket was pooled around her waist, the clothes she had slept in were rumpled and disheveled, lips particularly plush and slicked wet from her tongue, eyes soft and puffy from sleep. She reminds him of something he might have unraveled from the pollen bed of a flower, peeling back the petals gently to reveal her.

“I asked if you wanted me to help with it?” She repeats matter of factly, “As a thank you for letting me stay the night, figure I ought’a get my mouth on you but if you don’t want to that’s -- oh my god!” She all but squeals, eyes darting towards his window and startling Harry enough that his gaze follows suit. A squirrel sits stagnant on the windowsill, his nose poked through into the room. Y/N scrambles quickly, practically throwing herself into over to the window and not only effectively startling the squirrel to scale up the window and out of site before slamming the window shut, “Naughty buggers always try to get in.” She utters breathlessly, turning to face him with a bewildered look on her face. 

Harry is breathing hard, his heart hammering in his chest, “Does this happen often for you then?” He asks and Y/N nods exasperatedly. 

“More than I would ever like to admit.” She tells him, stretching her fingertips to the ceiling and yawning widely, eyes squinting shut, “Right then, do you want any help?” 

He puffs a breath, feeling his cheeks get rosy, his body flushing warm, “It -- it’s fine, Babe, m’just going to get in the shower anyways it should go away.” 

Though her lip pouts out just a bit, she nods anyway, “Okay, yeah, I need’a take a shower myself.” She squeezes at her fists, her thumb curling over her knuckles and popping them soundly, “I’ll message you when m’out so you know the demon didn’t drag me down the drain.” 

With a chuckle, he watches as she practically stumbles out of the room, rubbing her eyes and disappearing with her phone. 

Harry is left in his room with a pallet on the floor, Y/N’s scent permeating through the room, and an all too stiff cock. 

                                                         .                             .                          .

Harry regrets his decision immensely. 

He should have taken her up on her offer -- when she had so politely asked if he wanted her to suck him off -- he had sputtered like an idiot and said he was going to take a shower to rid himself of it, when he still had a guilty handy beneath his covers. Maybe then he wouldn’t still be thinking about it, mulling over his decision again and again, wondering what it would have been like. How warm her mouth might have been, how hard he would have throbbed against her wet little tongue, if she would have taken him far back or just teased him at the tip. . .the thought made him twitch in his trousers (and plaid pants don’t do well at hiding a stiffy, that’s for sure). 

It had only been a week and it felt like he had made the worst choice of his life. The thought of Y/N between his thighs, all soft and puffy lipped throating his prick gives a heated pinch in his abdomen. A burning coil that tickles down his body while he’s trying to focus in class, pleading with his prick to stay calm, and not let his mind wander too far out. Especially when Y/N messages him that she’s safe and out of the tub, air drying before her Statistics class and he has to wipe the mental image of her bare from his brain. Has to pretend he isn’t imagining what it would have been like if he would have indulged himself with her. After she had been down at his cock, pulling her up with his hand cupping her chin and drawing her into his mouth. Their lips slotting together, suckling her bottom lip into his mouth, tasting how sweet he just knows in his loins she tastes. 

And he wonders about after; wonders if Y/N would pack up and go back to her flat with a kiss on the cheek or if he could persuade her to stay for a cuddle. He would prefer the cuddle -- he’d long since realized that he is not the type who can just go on about his business after a good fucking. Harry was definitely the type who liked to coddle and cuddle back into reality, reintegrating himself into the post-coitous world by petting and stroking and kissing. Really, with all of his requirements, someone would think he ought to have been in a relationship by now. 

He does eventually get rid of the thoughts, especially after he had folded up the blankets and sheets he’d used to form her pallet on the floor and effectively erasing the “could have been’s” when he glanced at it. Though when she comes knocking at his door days later, this time at the humble hour of 8PM, they began to flutter back into his brain until he realized she was distressed. She had that same panicked look in her eye that she had the first time, which gives him very little time to actually think about it. 

“It’s happening again!” She all but cries out and Harry immediately steps to the side to allow her in, “I’m trying to find a fucking scholarly source for this paper, and I hear this crash right? Go out and the three plates I’d left on my counter are all broken on the ground.” Her distress is palpable, palms to her head, “It’s October and I’ve got a demon in my house! How cliche is that?” 

“Hold on a second, hold on, le’s calm down,” he places his hands up some, watching as she paces back and forth anxiously, “Were they pressed up all the way to the backsplash on your counter?” 

She nods, “Course they were, s’how I always leave them. And I know for a fact I left these ones there too, ‘cos I accidentally chipped a piece of the top one when I shoved them against it a little too hard.” There was another sharp thud, rattling the wall, and rattling both of their nerves in the worst way. A shiver rummages through his body, goosebumps pimpled at the thought of an unseen force viciously knocking her dishes off of her counter. That was considered a threat was it not? He didn’t know much about demons and ghosts but he figures broken plates is no Casper move.

“Why don’t I just go see —“

“No!” She exclaims, shaking her head fervently, “I need you here with me, splitting up is a terrible idea em i’m not going back in there.” 

His lips pursed, he tries to think of what they could do. He had a friend who was into this sort of stuff -- very in tune with nature, spirituality, ghosts and demons alike -- he could ask her to come around when she had a chance. If she could rule out demon or ghost then Y/N might be put a little more at ease. Which was the goal, he’d say, that first and foremost he wanted her to not be scared. And while Glenny (her name was Glenda but was incredibly pissed off that this was what her parents decided to name her) could be blunt about most things, when it came to this she was good at easing people into the idea of spirits (or telling them they were dumb for thinking anything could be there at all). 

So Harry reaches out, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly, “Alright, alright, we don’t -- we’ll both stay here.” He guides her backward towards the couch, helping her maneuver around his throw pillows and the laptop that the lid was nearly flattened out to the cushion. When she drops to a seat, he swivels around and plops down beside her, reaching to grab for his phone face down on the table. He gives a quick explanation on who he’s going to message and Y/N -- all bewildered eyes and nodding (“You know a witch?”) -- until he finished. Balancing his phone on his knee so that he could wait for her response. 

When he looks back up to Y/N, she looks less fearful and more guilt stricken, and before Harry could ask what was wrong, she says, “I’m sorry,” she tells him, shaking her head to herself, “I tried to ignore it all week but it just kept getting worse, and m’not really sleeping -- like I think I might have slept a total of four hours this entire week. But I didn’t want to bother you again, and I’m sorry for bothering you now but --” 

“Sweetheart, you could never bother me,” he cuts her off, scooting a little closer, “You’ve saved my arse about thirty times over,  the least I could do is help you. . .well, help you figure out a possible demon.” He points at the bedroom, “And you can stay the night here again, if that makes you feel better. I don’t mind it at all.” 

Y/N pouts her lip out at him, before she leans forward and slides her arms around his body in a hug. Harry isn’t sure if it’s just because she’s been swimming through his mind recently or if it had just been a while since he’d been this close to someone (he had been busy as of late and his usual sexual encounters that tide him over had been few and far in between),  but he feels his cock stir. Her proposition from the nights prior rings through his brain as he feels her breasts push against his chest, and only for a moment does he allow his mind to wander into the possibilities of this moment. Grasping her hips and dragging her closer to his lap, having her seat herself on his thigh, planted so that she was pressed right against him. Rocking and rolling her hips into him -- a girl had wanted to once and he hadn’t seen why he shouldn’t let her, so she kept her panties on, humped against his bare thigh until he could feel how wet she had become through the thin fabric. Harry remembers how enamored he had been, as they had been kissing one another and she had almost completely soaked through, and how sensitive she was when he’d dipped his face between her thighs. 

He can only imagine what it would be like with Y/N, who smells like candy apple and warmed his entire being with a hug. 

She made him ooze with want and he wonders if she could read it. He doesn’t know if he hopes she can or if he hopes she couldn’t. 

Withdrawing from him, she sighs heavily and wets her mouth with her tongue, “Thank you,” she nods, “I mean it. . .dunno what I’d do otherwise. Possession probably wouldn’t be a good look on me, hm?” 

“I dunno, I think you could make it work,” he motioned towards his face, “Bleeding from the eyes and speaking Latin backwards -- the thought’s hot is it not?” 

Y/N grins, making a show of fanning out her hair and looking at him passed her shoulder in a mocking sultry manner before rolling her eyes up into her head and jerking her body that still manages to make his insides twist in interest. So he pushes himself to a stand, holding out his hand for her and wriggling his fingers, “Come on, Babe, I’ve got stuff to make a jumble crumble.” 

“A what?” Y/N slots her fingers into his no matter her confusion, locking their grips together tightly and letting him drag her to a stand. 

Harry gasps, eyes going wide and it helps ebb off the arousal that had been twinkling at his peripherals, “You don’t know what a jumble crumble is? Christ, you’ve been sheltered.”

                                                             .                       .                      .

If someone had told Harry that one day he would be making jumble crumble in the kitchen with his next door neighbor, he would have been confused but possibly pleasantly delighted. Again, Harry had feared that he wouldn’t be able to make friendly with his neighbors and would lead a lonely life outside of his frat house. The moments he had appreciated most were the ones where he and the house members were in the kitchen, the lot of them helping him bake when he had his random midweek spurts of desire to. They would wash the dishes for him or fetch him things that he needed when he needed.  Afterward they would praise him for how delicious whatever it was turned out. 

Now, sometimes when he was lonely he would bring them batches after the fact but nothing beats his baked goods fresh and warm out of the oven. He had even questioned on whether or not he should get a dog just so that he had someone to share his recipes with again. There had been many times that he wanted to go over to Y/N’s and give her some since she helped him with his pumpkin bread that time before, but he always lost steam, worried that it wouldn’t live up to her standards. Frat boys are easy to please, but people like Y/N who have bundt cake pans just at their disposal -- those are the ones you have to work for.

So as he went to the process of making his Apple-berry jumble crumble, he was a little worried but ultimately grateful to not be baking by himself. Y/N helped him peel and cut the apples, at some of the actual crumble bit and giggled delightfully when she squealed as he scolded her and started swatting at her with the oven towel. She danced around with him, played music, told him stories, and just all together brought a life into his kitchen that he had missed terribly. In that moment Harry was ready to propose to her they leave this shithole of a complex, merge money and go somewhere better together to be roommates -- he knows he was jumping the gun, but he couldn’t help it. Let his mind wander to all the festive Halloween decorations they would have most definitely put up (Harry has a few and would have more if he thought anyone would appreciate them but Y/N explained that she had a hoard of them and if not for the demon in her flat she would show him). What it would be like to meet her in the kitchen in the morning for brekkie, or plant themselves on the couch for a movie night. He thinks it all sounds quite delightful, really, but maybe he was just looking at having a roommate with rose colored lenses. 

Don’t get him wrong, Harry enjoys his alone time, but he sort of thrives off his interactions with people. He likes making people happy -- a pleaser to the nth degree -- and would do most anything in his power to make sure that he could. The consistent affirmation he received in the frat house stroked his ego so nicely he often wondered if he might be a bit of a narcissist. He had to be careful because he would get little loved on stiffies if they were all really laying in the compliments or telling him how much they appreciated him. And anyone who has ever been in bed with him knows he loves being praised, it’s what gets him off the fastest. 

Y/N didn’t know this but she lays the compliments on thick, from the technique in which he cuts his fruits, to how he finger mixes the crumble. When he had let himself sing under his breath a little to the song she had crooning through her speakers, she encouraged him to speak up and told him he had a lovely voice. She told him that she liked all of his tattoos, had managed to bring up how she enjoys the soft appearance of his hair, and said she thought his rings were cool in the span of thirty minutes. And none of it sounded fake, like she was trying to come up with things to say - it all hit her naturally, as if it would be unusual had she not been having these thoughts. 

And Harry was reveling in it so deeply he almost forgot why they were doing this in the first place. 

Until there was a very distinct bang and clatter against the wall he and Y/N’s flat’s share together that makes his blood run cold. Y/N pauses mid explanation about the third season of Love Island, eyes going wide, and he wonders if the chill runs up the back of her neck too. His phone’s message tone startles the both of them, Y/N jumping and Harry giving a prompt, short bit of a “AH!” before he rolls his eyes at himself, towels off his hands, and grabbed for his phone. 

Glenny answered: Oh hell,  I’ll be there as soon as I can. 

Harry wonders if they should be concerned that she thought it imperative to come quickly.