Guy with the pie: part 2 (Patreon)

Some sugar plum fairy goodness 

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ii.

“You live like a sugar plum fairy.” 

Harry hadn’t known exactly what to expect when he was outside of Y/N’s flat; all things considered, the place was just a bland, nondescript brick outside. The side of town she was on wasn’t particularly dodgy but Y/N makes it clear she wouldn’t be wandering around at night by her lonesome when she presses her lock two times over and all but breaks her ankles trying to get to her door. He feels safe with her though,  - earlier in the night Michael had taken him off to the side when Y/N had gone to use the restroom, squeezing his thigh and nodding towards the path she’d left, “See she found you, yeah? She’d been scouting you out for about twenty minutes — is she talkin’ about the pies?” 

“Yeah,” Harry had nodded, “She’s really nice.” 

“She’s more than nice - she’ll praise you till she’s blue in the face if she likes you enough and she’ll show you a good time. . .both innocently and y’know - not so much too, if you’re into that.”

(The words had made Harry shiver and he wonders if that’s why Michael told him. Everyone - at least the ones close to him - knew that Harry liked to have his ego patted and stroked. Maybe not to the extent that he does but they know enough that it could give him a stiffy if done enough; he’s a people person first and foremost, so when he knows that he’s making someone happy. . .it’s good. Harry is actually unsure how some people don’t get that distinct, pleasing cold rush of excitement when someone tells them they’re good at something. Maybe somewhere down the line someone made him feel like he wasn’t good enough and needed constant reassurance, but he rarely felt the need to open up that can of worms.) 

When Y/N unlocks her door, she began to push it open but paused briefly, “Listen, I can’t remember if I cleaned up or not, so I apologize in advance for the state of it.” 

“S’fine Babe, my flats a wreck at least 4 days of the week.” He assured her, shaking his head, “I would be a hypocrite to try and say anything.” 

Y/N smiles at him, unlocks the door and presses it open to reveal what might be the softest looking flat he had ever seen. Cinnamon bark permeates his nostrils immediately, like she had opened the door and a draft carried it outward a few feet from where he stood in front of the door. It drew him in, like tendrils of smoke reached out in hand-like apparitions, lulled around his body and coaxed him. As soon as he stepped in he realized that Y/N had more than prepared for Christmas. It was about seven days into November and she had done it as promptly as stores do it; the Halloween decor was shoved into the corner of her living room.

There was a fake fireplace pushed to the wall, atop of it there lay snow globes and snowmen figurines. She had a banner slung above the couch that said Merry Christmas in red and white print on burlap fabric, accentuated with a snowflake wall piece on either side. The walls were lined with Christmas lights, red, green, yellow, pink, blue, and orange orbs of light that reflect off the wall and give the whole room a pinkish, red appearance. On her couch she had two throw pillows, one with a cartoonish Santa cuddled with a reindeer, and the other a cat with reindeer antlers, a red and white striped blanket that was rumpled and wavy like she had been curled up in it before she left for the party. There was a coffee table with a glass top, with a small Christmas tree with little ornaments, and a plate of cookies with a clear lid atop of them. It was incredibly cozy and Harry is intrigued to know what the rest of her flat is like but he minds his business, walks to the couch how she does, and is greeted by a fluffy white cat with a striped green and red collar. 

“A sugar plum fairy?” Y/N questions him, a small smile at her mouth as she drops her purse down at her feet and plops down on the cushion beside him, “That might just be the nicest thing someone has ever said to me.” 

The cat jumps into Y/N’s lap, standing on its hind-legs and snuggling against her throat, “It’s a gorgeous place though - proper cozy isn’t it? Kinda place you wanna be in when it’s cold out.” 

“You’re welcome over whenever,” Y/N tells him, “I hate bein’ alone here, m’almost positive there’s a demon.” 

Brows raised, Harry begins to slip out of his coat as Y/N wriggles from her own, “A demon? What makes you think that?” 

Y/N sighs, slouching against the back of the couch, “If I tell you, you promise not to leave, right?” 

Harry tries to figure out a way to say that there was probably nothing she could do that would make him leave. 

                                                  .                       .                    .

Two hours. 

It is approximately two hours of ghost stories, snacking on cookies, and Y/N making them both a mug of hot chocolate (marshmallows, whipped cream, and cinnamon to top it). Harry had become even more comfortable as they go back and forth, chatting, laughing. He’s full of cookies and hot chocolate, feeling contented and warm, and if he were to lay down he knew that he could most likely fall asleep. 

Harry isn’t quite sure when they had started play wrestling. From an offhand comment Harry had made cluing Y/N in that he was ticklish, lead Y/N to biting down on her bottom lip, creeping her hand out a little towards his leg. He had had one leg bent some, pulled up on the couch with him, stretched out in her direction and Y/N shuffled forward some, “So if I were to just —” she twiddled her fingers towards his inner knee, and Harry squawked, dragging his leg closer to himself. 

“Don’t —” 

“Oh shit you really are ticklish!” She gave a furtive grin, shuffling so she faced him more full on, “Is that the only spot or —” she goes for his other leg, tickling her fingers up his leg and Harry lets out another squawked laugh. It had set off a storm of Y/N’s quick fingers, rolling up his legs, his sides, up his torso and underneath his armpits, towards his neck. Harry had wiggled and laughed, pleading with her to stop but his face was in a splitting grin, and even when he threatened to wee on her couch she wouldn’t pause. 

Until Harry could get a handle on her, grabbing and rolling with her, nearly falling off the couch a few times as she scuttled to straddle him so she could tickle him. Maybe it was the adrenalin that got to him, maybe it was because he had been at half mass most of the night, but he was getting a stiffy. A flush of panic began to fall over him as he attempted to stop her movements, but when she wasn’t able to move her hands she is moving her hips. Harry tries to arch his back to keep her from stroking against him, but she manages to do it anyway, and she pauses.

She pauses, and Harry pauses, and he feels his face turn puce.  

“I’m —” he begins, shaking his head, “I’m sorry, Babe, I didn’t —” 

He’s cut off when Y/N very gently rolls her hips, pressing her crotch against his own where he is stiffening. Harry’s mouth falls open a little, a soft little noise that scratches from his throat filters in the air. Her lips curve in a small little smile, another little roll and Harry’s hips buck into hers to meet it. 

She murmurs softly, “So is it a kink for you? I’ve heard of people who like to get tickled.” 

Harry shudders, shaking his head, “Not — not usually, no.” 

“Ohhhh,” she hums, a small giggle, his hands still looped around her wrist and he feels them move beneath his fingers, “So is it just me?” 

He swallows thickly, “M’sorry.” 

“Why would you apologize for that, hm?” She murmurs, her thighs flex around his hips, “It’s nice — I could help you take care of it, yeah? If you’d like that?” Harry bucks up again, his heart racing in his chest as the fantasies of the night had built to their peak. He was entirely hard now, swollen and full, toes curling in anticipation for what’s to come as she nods quickly. 

“Yes,” he breathes out, the response punctuated with a moan when she grinds down against him again, “Fucking hell.” 

Y/N reaches down and curling her fingers around the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head, “Thank god, I’ve been wanting to suck your cock all night.” 

Harry feels arousal swallow him whole, his heart fluttering, “Really? I thought — I thought maybe this had been one sided.” 

She shakes her head adamantly, “Not at all,” she grabs his hand, placing it over her breast - the cup was soft, smooth fabric and the skin beneath it was even smoother, “Christ, I thought I was bein’ so obvious. Michael tol’ me I oughta just throat you there at the party.” She rubs against him again, “You like me?” 

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, the hand that isn’t cupping her breast reaches up behind her neck and drags her down closer to him, “Beautiful little thing, ‘ve been so caught up in you all night, d’ya even have  to ask?” 

“I jus’ like to hear it.” 

They smoothed their mouths over one another, a hot press that makes his eyes flutter shut; it was a bit sticky from the hot cocoa and when she slides her tongue along his lip he realizes she tastes like it too. She’s sweet all over — like a sugar plum fairy — he wonders if she’s real; if he’d just had a very elaborate imagination and someone would pinch him and he’d wake up passed out at the party. Though Y/N subtly rakes her nails down his bicep when he works their bodies, grabbing her by the hip and pressing closer to her. Their bodies are pressed tightly together, chest to chest, and the heat from her fake fireplace works the sweat from their pores quicker.

Y/N kisses fervidly, like she’d been dreaming of it. As if they had been a part of some long, fiery romance that finally led them to this moment. It turns Harry on even more, craning his neck to kiss her even deeper. Their noses nudge together, their tongues massaging together in these slow, tantalizing motions that leave Harry pulsating in his boxers. He shivers when she reaches down, tugging at the hem of his shirt. That’s part of the only reason that he draws away - that and the fact that his lungs burned, aching to breathe. Y/N doesn’t give him much choice in pulling it off, instead taking it into her own hands and shoving it up his torso. “Oh wow,” she says, voice soft as she helps him pull it from his head, her fingers grazing over his tattoos, goosebumps pimpling up his skin, “These are pretty,” she comments, “And you’re skin is so soft, isn’t it?” Harry bristles with her praise, biting hard on his bottom lip. She leans down again, dragging the flat of her tongue over the dusky skin of his nipple, scraping her teeth against the pert little bud. Harry groans, digging his heel into the cushion of the couch. Y/N smiles against his chest, nosing gently at the skin with a giggle, “You make the best noises. You’re makin’ me so wet I can feel it on my thighs.”

“Fuck sake, Babe,” he tilts his head back, and Y/N takes the chance to dip her face into his neck, suckling and nibbling at the stretch of his throat, “You’re g’na make me bust in me trousers if ya keep talking like that.” 

He makes her giggle, the sound vibrating through his skin, and he feels a warm puff of her breath poof over him, “I can’t help it,” she murmurs, “You’re gorgeous. . .there’s just so much to praise.” 

Harry almost came right there, as she pushed a warm, plushed kiss his pulse point and her hips rolled into him one last time before she started sliding down. She worms down to where her face is hovering over his crotch, one of his legs is slung over the edge of the couch with his foot flat to the floor, his other he had up on the couch and bent at the knee, leaning against the back. Y/N sat pretty between them, her hands working diligently to unbuckle his belt and pop the button of his trousers. Normally Harry is pretty good at keeping his hips still, yet with her he just absolute cannot. Before she moves to pull them down, she cups the lump bulging in his trousers with both hands, playfully dragging her teeth over the denim and Harry feels himself twitch. He leaks into his boxers, thighs twitching. 

“M’g’na give you a blowie.” She tells him, and Harry lifts up at the hips to help her tug his jeans and boxers down. Harry kicks them off, his face flushes again as a new wave of bashfulness ripples down his body as he realizes that she’s staring at his cock. Her eyes are wide as she looks at him, mouth agape just a little. His cock is standing tall, so stiff that it was pressed against his lower abdomen; the head was a ruddy color, slick with his precum. He felt himself throbbing and he wonders if Y/N could tell, or if she could feel it when her soft fingers slide around his prick. It’s slow and thoughtful as she squeezes him, working a small droplet of precum to slip down the side of the head. Harry’s whole body twitches, his head falling back once again as a whine slithers out of him.  

Y/N’s gaze flickers to him, swallowing thickly, “Your cock is really pretty,” she tells him, leaning in closer, her breath ghosting over him and Harry just about melts. She wastes no more time as she parts her lips, pulling the head of Harry’s cock into her mouth. Harry takes in a sharp breath, her tongue stroking down as she goes deeper. His fingers dig into the soft throw blanket that he had been sat upon when she takes him as far as she can, her throat convulsing around the tip until she drags away with deep breath. She suckles at the tip, her grip on his shaft aiding her in maneuvering him how she wants, which includes tapping him against her tongue out flat.

There’s a little burst of warmth in his lower belly, twisting around like the fluttering wings of a butterfly in beautiful kisses that make his thighs tremble. Harry knows he isn’t going to last - there is no way that he could, when she begins to bob her head on him, eyes having fluttered shut in her own ecstasy. She isn’t sloppy as much as she is enthusiastic, like having Harry in her mouth might have been something she day-dreamt about. 

When she parts for a breath, her chest is heaving, the soft slope of her breast beckoning his gaze as she twists her hand up and down his shaft. Harry moans, his legs spreading apart further and Y/N dives back in, holding his cock still and stiffening her tongue before rolling circles at the crown of his head and shaft. It is a combination of this and the hand she holds his thigh with, digging her nails into the tender inner flesh, that drags him towards his end embarrassingly fast. He wriggles, shaking his head, “You’ve got t’a pull off.” He murmurs, toes curling, “Don’ want to cum yet, Babe, please -” 

Y/N draws back with a pout, “Aw,” she slows her hand, “But I wanted to taste you.” 

“You still can,” he assures her, trying to focus on not blowing his load all over her face as she stares up at him from between his thighs, “Want to take care of you too.” 

She gives him one last swift, small lick to the smooth head. 

“I knew I brought home a gentleman.”