Camping trip part 3 (Patreon)

:) 

Part 1 

part 2 

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iii.

“Hey.” 

Y/N’s asleep -- she thinks she’s asleep at least. She doesn’t feel very awake but she doesn’t feel very asleep either, hovering in a place where her mind is plodding in and out of waves. . .maybe she’s somewhere in between being asleep and being awake? Or maybe she was dreaming? Wherever she is, she starts sinking back into the pleasant spot she’d been in, but another little, “Hey,” jolts her awake, eyes popping open, fuzzy around the edges until she begins to focus back in on her surroundings. She’s in a tent. Why the hell was she in a tent? 

“Y/N?” Her gaze shifts over and down, Harry is lying across from her looking wide awake and the reminder that she was on a camping weekend with her friends. She also remembers that the night before she’d been stirred to consciousness because Harry was rocking his hips against her. And she soon remembers after that how they had discussed that before they’d both gone to bed, “Sweetheart?” 

She worms her arm from the sleeping bag, reaching up toward her face and rubbing tiredly at her lidded eyes, “Hm?” Is all she can muster as an initial response, sniffling as she focuses on him, seeing that he’s poked his head out from the sheltered way he’d been dipped in his sleeping bag, “You’re okay?”

“Yeah,” he responded, but when her brows dip inward he shakes his head, “M’fuckin’ freezing.” 

“Mm,” she hummed again and as if on cue, the tent whips with a flash of wind that shakes the fabric around them -- Y/N can smell rain in the air, and while it was by no means freezing, it was definitely colder than what they had been encountering. A shiver ripples down her spine as she struggles to burrow deeper into her sleeping bag, “S’cold, yeah,” she replied, her mouth feels heavy, “What time is it?” 

“2.” He answered, before sighing heavily, “Could we share?” 

“Hm?” 

“Could we do how we did last night and share sleeping bags? I’ve been up for an hour, it feels like it keeps getting colder.” His statement is shrouded in a shiver, “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t ask if I -- if I didn’t need it.” 

And, well, Y/N couldn’t say that she didn’t sleep better with Harry. She slept a dozen times better than she ever could, even in this costly sleeping bag, so the prospect of sharing a sleeping bag with him again wasn’t horrible. Hell, she reckons he didn’t really even have to wake her up to ask -- he could have just crawled into the bag with her and she would have barely noticed. 

Which is why she merely shuffles to the side of her sleeping bag, fiddling with the sides until she could find the zipper and pull it undone for him as her nonverbal invite. Harry wastes no time in fumbling with his own bag, dragging it open and nearly tripping over himself to get over to her. He then reveals that he was in nothing but his boxers and Y/N snorts as he wriggles himself into the bag with her, “No wonder you’re cold.” She remarks and he pouts his lip at her, and when she realizes that he’s pouting at her, she realizes that he’s stuffing himself in beside her so that they face each other. Which she didn’t really mind, as long as she didn’t drool or something equally horrifying in her sleep that would warrant him never wanting to share a sleeping space with her again. 

“Hate pants to sleep, they’re so stuffy,” he shivers, his body is ice cold as he pushes himself up against her, seeking the bodily warmth that he so desired and craved --  Y/N feels like her body temperature always ran a bit warmer, so he was lucky it was her whose tent got fucked. She’s fully clothed but with how stuffed they are against each other, he might as well be a second skin, and she reaches around his body to tug the zipper, closing them inside. There is some minor shuffling, but eventually, he settles, and breathes out a deep, contented sigh, “Thank you.” His cheek is pressed up against his palm, smashing it up and muffling his words. 

“Mhm,” she hums, sniffling a little, “I’ll try my best not to grind on you.” 

He pouts again, eyes fluttered open to look at her but a small smile teases his mouth as it does her own, “Heyyyyy,” he whines, “Tha’s embarrassing.” 

Y/N lets her eyes trace his jawline, where he grew scruffier and scruffier by the day, “Don’t be embarrassed, I’m only ribbing you, babe. Besides, it’s a little flattering to know I plague your dreams.” 

“Haunt them, rather,” he smiles, blinking his eyes open, “It’ll be a total normal dream, then you manifest like the boogeyman.” 

“You want to share a sleeping bag with the boogeyman?” She scrunches her face up and he giggles. 

“Well, who wouldn’t when the boogeyman is so warm, and soft, and downright cute.” 

Y/N gasps, “Cute? How so, are we talkin’ baby duck cute or like so ugly she’s cute.” 

The skin between his brows crinkle, “What kind of scale is that?” 

“An accurate one. I either make you ‘aw’ out loud or you grimace a little and pet me because you feel bad, s’not that difficult.” 

Harry chuckles, and it’s a deep, syrupy kind of chuckle that vibrates through his body and subsequently through her own. He manages to cuddle even closer to her, “Baby duck, you’re definitely baby duck material.” 

“Good,” she murmured, letting her own eyes flutter shut, “I would have started crying if you said otherwise.” 

                                            .                         .                       .

Harry asked if he could share a sleeping bag with her was not the only time she was drawn from her slumber. A few hours later she was drawn from the pleasant dream of her floating down a river on what was possibly a cloud, by a low sort of noise that she barely registers at first. It’s a grumble, a low whine, it wasn’t thunder, was it? No, it couldn’t have been, but there was a roll of thunder that matched the subtle patter of rain against the tent. Oh yeah, she was in a tent. A tent with Harry, in a sleeping bag with Harry, pressed super closely to Harry. 

And Harry, bless him, is rocking his hips against her thigh. 

It’s a lot. . .different than before. Sure, yesterday he was rubbing against her bum but she couldn’t see him. Could only hear him, and feel him, but she didn’t see the way his face shifted in his own pleasure. He looked blissed-out, each little moan escaped two plush, parted lips and it accompanied another rut of his hips. The poor thing -- he feels really hard against her and big. . .she wonders if it hurts when it’s that hard. 

He’s got his arm draped around her waist, but his fingers are curled around the fabric of the back of her shirt. Y/N wonders what he’s dreaming about. . .if it’s her again, or if this time she really was just the warm, willing body beside him. Was he close in his dream? Had they only just started? Does he dream of blowies, or being inside, or is he dry humping in the dream too? Every possibility flashes through her mind as she watches for a few more moments -- she wishes she could just let him finish, but then he’d soil another pair of boxers and be even more embarrassed than if she just woke him up. This was okay, she had already told him she didn’t mind, so she didn’t feel so conflicted when she placed her hand on his shoulder and gave a little squeeze, “Harry,” she murmured, and another little moan rumbles through him -- Y/N feels a little sting of arousal zip through her belly, “Harry, babe, y’need to wake up.” 

His eyes flicker open, soft, and puffy from sleep. It takes him only a moment to realize his predicament, and he whines again, one thick with frustration, “M’sorry,” his face is contorted in a way that suggests he could start crying, “M’sorry, I’ll go take care of it.” 

“No,” she says it before she can think it through before she could stop herself -- she blames it on being half-awake, “It’s okay, you can -- you can stay in here,” she lets out a shuddered breath, “Were you dreaming again?” He hums, a soft, pitiful mhm that makes her insides tickle with butterflies, “What about?” 

“You,” he answers honestly, he shuffles to get comfortable, “We -- you were touching me.” 

“Yeah?” He nods, “And it was nice?” 

“So nice,” he sighed, “Never wanted it to end.” 

She feels a little bead of guilt then, “I’m sorry for waking you, but. . .I can make it better, I think,” he looks at her, she imagines his cheeks are flushed, “I’ll just -- if you want then I could,” she worms her hand back in between them, finding the waistband of his boxers and pulling them from where they nestled snugly around his hips. Her fingers brush past a fine little section of hair before she comes into contact with his cock and beneath her fingertips, the flesh his hard, wet, smooth, and throbbing. The moan that leaves him is a little loud considering they were surrounded by other people in an otherwise quiet campground, so she shushes him before asking, “Is this okay?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he says it like a mantra, his body stiffens as she loops her finger around him and strokes her palm up against the shaft, “Oh, god, are you sure? It’s okay?” 

“Positive,” she murmured, nodding to echo it, “I don’t mind helping. Do you wanna fuck my hand or do you want me to do the work?” 

“Either, both, I dunno,” he gasps when her thumb strokes against the slit, his hips thrust forward into her hand and she finds her fist snug to his pelvis, “Fuck.” 

“It looks like it feels good,” she uttered mindlessly, and she felt him throb once more in her hand, “Are you gonna cum?” 

Harry tucks his face into her throat, his scruff grazes against her skin, as she feels hot pants against her pulse, “Yes,” he concedes. 

“Just from this?” 

He moans again, nodding, he fucks into her hand a little quicker, “Yes, just from this, I’m gonna cum.” 

“You’re sensitive,” she says it through a giggle, “That’s so cute. I like it when guys are sensitive.” 

He whimpers, and Y/N thinks he could have come right there -- he could have, if not for the sudden thought she had, that makes her release her grip on him, and consequently encourage a desperate moan from him, “You can’t cum in the sleeping bag,” she tells him, shaking her head, “You spent too much money on it. Do you have a tissue or anything?” 

“Not in here,” his chest is heaving, she wonders if his mind is racing, “Shit.” 

“Hm,”  she lulls her tongue around her lips before coming to a decision, that she thinks would benefit the both of them, “Well, we’ll have to make do with what we have.” 

“Which is what?” 

“My mouth,” she reaches around him to unzip the bag, “If that’s okay -- you can just cum in my mouth.” 

Visibly, Harry shivers, and she doesn’t know if it’s from the cold, or from her words, but she drags the zipper down enough that she can flip the flap over and expose the both of them. Harry’s cock is pretty, from what she could see of it in the dark, he was flushed red and big -- she had felt how big he was but seeing it was something so entirely different. She didn’t know what to do with herself, other than wriggling her body down and position the head of his prick toward her mouth. All she has to do is fit her lips around the head and stroke along with the crown, and Harry throbs inside of her mouth, pulsating as his hot cum splashed against her tongue and the back of her throat. He cums a lot, Y/N swallows all of it willingly, happily, let’s it warm her throat. He’s moaning but it’s muffled by the knuckle that he stuffs into his mouth, between his teeth to quiet himself.  

She makes sure he’s clean before she helps him shuffle back into his boxers, breathless herself, drenched between her thighs. Y/N plops back down beside him, listening as he catches his breath, one of his hands flat against his chest as he turns to face her, and when they lock eyes they both let out a panted giggle. 

“You’re a whiny one,” she teases him, and Harry laughs good-naturedly. 

“Yeah, s’a little embarrassing. You’re lucky you shushed me or I might’ve woken everyone up.” 

“Don’t be embarrassed, m’loud too when I feel good,” she motions toward his side, “Go ahead and zip us up, s’too chilly like this.” 

He does as requested, keeping them snug to one another and he must feel all jellied, boneless, and relaxed because he melts into her side, “Thank you. I’m g’na repay you for both of these.” 

Y/N would have questioned it, if not for the fact she was already slipping back to sleep.