Inherent

Because of my head injury, Harry followed the doctor’s instructions to wake me every couple of hours to make sure my symptoms didn’t worsen. I’d totally forgotten, of course, and the first time he woke me up around midnight had caused me a bit of a scare. He leaned over me, fingers tracing along my jaw while calling my name softly. The odd hour coupled with my concussion had me waking up totally disoriented, even a little fearful, assuming something happened. Something bad. Which isn’t really a surprise, I suppose, since it had happened before and being abruptly woken by phone calls or knocks on the door is something I’ve come to fear.

He hushed me as soon as I gave a small jolting gasp, eyes having popped open in panic, asking in a rush what was wrong.

“Nothing, my love. Nothing at all,” he smiled, smoothed my hair back, and offered no further explanation. “Just go back to sleep, baby. I’m sorry for waking you.”

Only somewhere between consciousness and sleep did I realize what he was doing, I found myself easily able to fall back into a dreamless slumber because with the reassurance that Harry was there, taking care of me, and wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen.

The times thereafter that he woke me, it was even more peacefully, with soft kisses and whispered words of comfort, and he only drew me to consciousness long enough to know that I was okay before allowing me to fall back to sleep.

***

This morning, the sun filtering though my curtains isn’t what rouses me from sleep. In fact it isn’t anything, really, if nothing more than my internal clock urging me to wake. It’s a gradual, peaceful coming to awareness, much different than what I have experienced lately. I feel a familiar arm wound over my waist, strong and firm, and then a hard torso pressed against my back, pulled into him as close as possible.

Only a sliver of unobtrusive light trickles through the heavily curtained windows, and if I let myself—with a sleepy, pleased smile—I could easily fall back to sleep to the sound of Harry’s soft, measured breathing.

Waking up like this… it’s absolutely impossible to even think of taking for granted.

In fact, I turn my head and bury back into the pillow that smells of him to try and sleep again, feeling peaceful while utterly surrounded by him. But then, through one bleary half opened eye, I catch sight of the alarm clock on the nightstand.

In ominous glowing red digits, it reads nine thirty.

With a small gasp I attempt to pop out of bed, ready to rush my way through my morning routine right up until I stumble into the bookstore, disarrayed but ready to work. The chances of arriving to work on time now are slim, but a little late is better than being really late.

As soon as I make any sort of movement, however, the strong circled around me tightens, constricting so I have no other choice but to yield to Harry’s strength and sink back into the mattress. I do so with a grunt of frustration, squirming slightly.

“Jules,” he says, voice thick with sleep though surprisingly alert. Concerned. Aside from the small fright received upon waking for the first time last night, the last time I woke up with such a start while sleeping next to him was on our very first date, when we fell asleep on his couch after he convinced me to come over. “What’s wrong?”

He probably thinks the same panic has overcome me just now, but it hasn’t. It isn’t even really panic, and does not affect my heart in the same way.

Just the usual dread of going to work on top of being late, that’s all.

Twisting around—which is a difficult task given the firmness of his hold—I come nearly face to face with him in the darkened room. His eyes are wide, alert, and it appears as though he has been awake for a while. Definitely before me.

“I’m going to be late,” I say with urgency, trying in vain to push myself away and up even though the last thing I want to do is leave him. Not today, not after last night.

“Late for what?” He sits up on one elbow as he asks this, allowing his hold to slip on my waist, but moves to grab my hand. I quickly roll away and all but stumble out of bed, though not without feeling his hand skim my side in an effort to pull me back.

“Work.” That much is obvious. Classes don’t start for nearly another two months still.

A very slight dizzy spell hits me as soon as my feet touch the cool hardwood floor, but I don’t dwell on it for long before I’m dashing off toward the bathroom, Harry calling my name in confusion.

Within seconds my toothbrush is fished from the little zip-lock bag that Vivian managed to thoughtfully pack for me in such a short amount of time, and right as I am haphazardly brushing my teeth, a hairbrush in my free hand ready to untangle all the knots from sleep, Harry comes to lean in the doorway for a moment. His shirtless figure is visible to me in the mirror and his eyes slowly travel down my form, lingering noticeably at my bare legs.

With my mouth full of toothpaste I quickly wave my hairbrush at him in greeting. He laughs with a dismayed shake of his head, sauntering over to wrap his arms around my waist—which seems to be their favourite place—and rest his chin on my shoulder. That is, at least, until I lean forward to spit out the paste and rinse my mouth.

“Harry,” I begin regretfully, wanting nothing more than to go back to bed with him; I know that’s what he’s in here for. “I don’t have time. I seriously have to go.” Shrugging out of his grip creates an almost painful, aching sense of longing.

He is successful in catching me this time before I can scurry away again, and pulls me until my back brushes against his chest. Unable to help myself, I lean into him with a smile.

“Jules, Julia…” he murmurs soothingly, sighing through his amusement, though it escapes me as to what, if anything, about this situation is funny. “You have a concussion. You are literally not allowed to work today.”

Finally, a shock of memories hit me. Recollection of the doctor’s orders come back in an admittedly hazy jumble. Truthfully a lot of last night, right up until we arrived here to the apartment is encased with a thick brain fog, as if some far off memory that I can’t quite grasp.

“No working for twenty four hours, remember?” He recites. “So that means I have you all to myself. The entire day.” At these words, as though they are magical, I slump back into him with a sigh of relief.

“I—wow. I completely forgot about that.” A whole day off with Harry, at his house, to recuperate, relax, and hopefully not worry about the chaos surrounding quite literally everything else, from home all the way to work. “That does sound pretty nice.”

“What does?” He knows very well what, but the smirk is practically detectable in his tone and it is so easy to play along.

I lean back farther, tilt my head to smile up at him. “Me n’ you.”

This is all he needs to hear before he’s scooping me up into his arms, quickly and easily. I release a surprised laugh while clinging to him as best I can, even though he has a firm hold of me while he vacates the bathroom and collapses onto the bed. The landing is soft and controlled, Harry hovering over me with a small playful smile.

“We’re staying right here. All day.” His declaration makes me laugh again; one of those good, relieved laughs. An entire day spent in bed with him… nothing sounds better right now, or more curative.

“What about breakfast?” I ask anyway. I’m not hungry—but his playful mood is infectious and it’s impossible not to poke at his on the spot plan.

After a moment, he nods decisively with a contemplative purse of his lips. “You’ll stay here while I make us something.”

“Okay. Now that does sound amazing.” With a small pull from my hand that had stayed clasped to his shoulder, he leans down to smile and brush his mouth against mine.

“Good. Wasn’t gonna give you another choice, anyway.”

“Really?” My question is posed with feigned incredulity. He nods again, pulling back just enough to peer at me with an impish glimmer shining in his eyes. “Well, I think maybe I’ll just head off to work after all.”

As soon as I push against his shoulder, he shakes his head and all but constricts himself around me, legs snaking underneath my knees and arms curling around my waist to push me down onto the bed, held effortlessly in place. The whole while I continue to laugh, feeling much better than I did last night.

“Not a chance,” he says firmly. “You’re staying right here with me. Don’t care if I have to hold you here the whole time. Actually, that doesn’t sound like a bad plan.”

Actually, as amazing as Harry’s closeness is, and as much as it calms me, this hold is more than a little claustrophobic. I don’t know how he even managed it, but he has me completely immobilized underneath him. Both my arms and legs are pinned underneath his own, and his torso hovers over my own, unmoving.

“Harry,” I say loudly with a grin. “Let me up. I was only—”

“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’, face buried into the crook of my neck so it’s impossible to tell if he really is serious. Knowing him, he is. “Besides, I already called in sick for you.”

“Really?” That was the only reason that I could think of for wanting to evade his grasp even for a moment—he really does have this all thought out.

“M’hm. Now all we have to do is relax.”

Relax.

So easy in theory, yet very nearly impossible in practice. I hope that, while good news would be welcomed, that we don’t hear anything from the police, or at least not anything in relation to the burglary. If even just for one day, all I long for is peace. Peace with Harry.

The fact that he already thought to call work for me is such a relief, too. I would have dreaded to call and explain my situation to Alex when he won’t even bother to reply to my messages, or worse—Miss Mitchell. It’s been perhaps more than a year since I’ve taken a sick day, but that won’t make it better in her eyes. Not even the fact that my house was robbed and that I fainted only an hour later.

And Alex. I resist the urge to grind my teeth out of growing annoyance, because I still have not heard from him since Louis showed up at the bookstore, days ago.

By now he’s had to have heard about the break in; so I hope like hell that he knows absolutely nothing at all about it. That day when he sat down and told me about his troubles with dealers over Caleb’s debt still sits odd in my mind.

“When?”

“About an hour ago. You’re off the hook,” he says, a little more subdued now. He rolls so we are on our sides, spooning with my back pressed close to him.

I tilt my head back to him again, disbelieving. Surely, with as light a sleeper as I know for a fact that I am, I would have woke up if Harry even stirred. Then again, though, that was the deepest, most peaceful sleep that my body has received in a very long time. In combination with how exhausted I was and the concussion, I probably could have slept through an earthquake.

“Wanted you to rest for as long as possible, since I had to disturb you so much,” he hums quietly, but says nothing more.

“You’re really sweet, y’know.” While murmuring this, my fingers absentmindedly stroke his arm where he has it curled around me. It occurs to me again that he couldn’t have gotten very much rest at all last night, and I feel both guilty and grateful. I know not to apologize for keeping him up, because he will only deny how much of a burden it really was. “Thank you. For—for taking care of me.”

That’s what he did. Harry has taken care of me before, when I was hurt in ways that aren’t tangible. In ways that are emotional, long-scarring. He healed me more than any person could in those ways and last night, he took care of me when I was hurt physically. When it was more of a encumbrance to him, when he lost sleep because of me, because of my injury. I have so much to thank this man for.

“It was nothing. I’d do it every day for you,” he brushes off my gratitude yet again, as though what he did for me last night was nothing more than a trivial, minute favour.

“No,” I say, sharp yet soft, recalling similar deflection last night. For some reason, he refuses to believe that he’s as wonderful of a person as he really is. “You really are. And considerate, and kind. And really really handsome, too…”

In the midst of muttering out the shortened fragments of just a few things that are to be appreciated about him, I halt while twisting around in his grasp to face him again when I feel something against my thigh. Something hard that prods at me through his underwear.

At my freezing up, Harry dissolves into deep, unrestrained boyish laughter. With his head buried in my neck he rearranges me so I am lying on my side once more, back pressed firmly to his torso. I still feel him, hard against me, and he makes no attempt to move. Neither do I.

“Sorry,” he speaks into my neck, tickling my skin with his mouth so close. I smile, the initial surprise over with. “I’m just a little bit excited to have you in my bed, finally.”

This is the first time I’ve ever woke up to—to Harry’s morning wood. With a small, disbelieving laugh bubbling past my own lips, I shake my head wryly at how open he is about this. He doesn’t seem nearly as reserved about all things of an intimate nature this morning, or at all.

“Only a little bit?” My slightly cheeky question is met with another of his rumbling chuckles.

“Alright. Very. Very excited.”

In fact, as his knuckles brush over my collarbone while his fingers card through my hair, I swear I feel him subtly push harder against me, creating friction with his hips against my backside. Heat instantly envelops me at such a notion.

“Finally—” My voice dies for a moment and my train of thought is lost, unsure of what I am even trying to say. And not only that, but the response is a moment late, as I remain utterly absorbed in him. He truly is a whirlwind.

It’s true, though; I regret ever avoiding his apartment, or his bedroom rather. That is what I’d been on about before he left me speechless. Yet again.

His bed is heavenly, and the level of rest received while sleeping in his arms is second to none.

“How’re you feeling,” he asks, level and seemingly calm, even though he keeps pulling me back closer, tighter against him.

“Much, much better.” It comes out more flirtatious than it sounded in my mind, but it is meant to imply that he’s the reason for my good health. I reach back to blindly caress his jaw, his hold unfaltering, and I definitely don’t mind.

He knows that I’m aware of what he’s doing, and I start to think he might bt playing somewhat of a game with me. To see how long it will take for me to react. And while he doesn’t reply verbally, he sighs into my neck and nuzzles farther at my skin before laying sloppy kisses to the area. There’s a certain urgency to this action, though he remains otherwise still. It only makes me hotter.

“It helps a little that I woke up to you,” I continue to talk, to pretend I’m not as affected by his almost undetectable actions as much as I clearly am.

“Hm, only a little?” While teasingly quoting me from just moments ago, he rises up for a second to peer down at me, as though offended.

Giggling, I push back an errant curl that fell forward into his eyes. His lashes flutter as my touch skims his forehead. “Okay, maybe more than a little.”

With a pout that is somehow delicious and sexy, he dips his head back to the crook of my neck and roguishly nips at the skin. I jolt out of yet another surprise before sputtering out a breathy laugh at the pure sensitivity, turning my head in a half-hearted attempt to stop him.

“Harry, that—that tickles,” I stammer out through my laughter when he does it again, and soon feel his large, triumphant grin form against my neck. He’s performed a similar play before, and it’s clear what he wants. When he gingerly grazes my skin again, which nearly drives me insane, I laugh loudly and writhe underneath him. Really, though, I don’t want him to stop.

Finally, my resolve fades and my mind works hard to find the words he wants to hear past all the sensations he’s causing and our loud, carefree laughter. “Okay, okay. A lot. You helped me a lot. Harry!” I gasp into yet another laugh when he does it again, after what I said when I thought it would appease him.

Finally, he smiles and then his tongue darts out, replacing his teeth and soothing over the places he’d bitten. The nips were so gentle, though, they most likely won’t even leave a mark.

“Can’t help myself,” he murmurs, pulling back marginally. I can tell he isn’t done with whatever he has planned, however, because he still holds me close and his small smile is both devilish and sensual. “You’re irresistible.”

“Well, I beg to differ—you resisted my attempts to seduce you last night.”

It comes out of nowhere, what was meant to be a joke however true it may be, this bold honesty. I don’t mean for Harry to take it seriously. But he does—he stills totally, and his smile fades as he props himself up on one elbow again to lean over me.

“Is that what you think I did?” He questions, the picture of disbelief. I can’t tell if I have made him mad with this, and my only response is to nod meekly. Crap.

“I restrained myself,” he corrects thickly. “Because you are so fucking tempting, and I knew you were fragile. I wasn’t about to let my desire put any strain on you. When I had you up against that wall,” his voice drops several notes, and a shiver runs through me at the memory. At Harry recounting it. “I almost gave in. I’ve never wanted anyone more than you—than how much I wanted to take you last night.”

His blunt words have their intended effect: they’re totally shocking, and they render me speechless. He smirks in accomplishment. This, by far, is the most forthcoming he has ever been in where we are in regards to intimacy, as straight as he could possibly be. Hell, borderline vulgar. And so incredibly hot.

It only sends an intense new wave of heat crashing though me, and a new insatiable need to kiss him arises within seconds. I half turn again, forgetting what happened when I tried to do the same only minutes ago, but only end up pressing myself farther into the bulge in his boxers due to my position. A soon as a deep, almost pained yet pleasure-filled groan rumbles up from his throat, I still completely. His eyes flutter shut while he takes his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Sorry, sorry!” The near shouted apology causes his eyes to snap open, drink in my reddening cheeks that are surely visible even in the dim light.

Then—then, he breaks down into a half-hearted attempt at restraining good natured laughter. This only leads him back to burying his head in my neck, and the vibrations of his low chuckles resonate through my shoulder.

Somehow, though his entertainment should only add to my chagrin, it serves to lessen my embarrassment. Yet again, he has managed to respond to my reactions in a way that only puts me more and more at ease. “I think you might be the only girl to ever apologize for turning someone on.”

“I just feel bad, okay,” I sigh, and he instantly catches my meaning.

“Don’t, baby,” he drops the playful tone to purr out serious reassurances, and for a moment I don’t understand his abrupt change in mood. Slowly, however, I soon clue in when he grips at my hip, and pushes himself into me. He holds me there for a lasting moment, then pulls back on an almost laboured breath. “Don’t apologize, because you make me feel good.”

Now more than ever it feels as though he has lit within me a fire totally of his own making, and that he really might be trying to kill me with the use of mere words. And that intense heat radiates downward, straight to my core.

“I honestly,” he has to pause because he’s pushing into my clothed backside once again, and it sounds like his breath has been taken away when he slightly eases the pressure. “Don’t know how the hell I hold myself back. And lately you haven’t been making it any easier for me.”

As soon as he gets the choppy, rough words out, he leans to kiss me fiercely. My breathing shallows until I’m not sure if oxygen is even entering my lungs any longer, while still my mouth moves against his and I grip the back of his neck as if I never need to take another breath, tugging lightly at his soft curls.

All too soon it is ending just as quickly as it began, Harry pulling away from me with another light groan. When the heat of his presence is no longer felt just inches away, I turn over, panting, only to see his back as he slides his legs over the edge of the bed.

“What—what are you doing?”

Taut, tensed muscles are clearly defined in his shirtless back, arms braced on either side of him, fists bunched into the sheets.

“Making you breakfast,” he replies in a strained, tight voice, head bowed slightly. I hear him exhale for a long moment as he tries to get a hold of himself, to fight against the knowledge of what could very well have just transpired if he’d let it.

“Harry…” I trail off, feeling terrible now. For being fragile, for my stupid injury, and maybe even my stupid heart too. “Please. I’m sorry—come back to bed.”

After another pause he slowly relaxes, smoothing out the blanket beneath his hands before he looks back to me. There’s no more of that telltale heat residing in his eyes, and he forms a small, reassuring smile. “That’s alright, darling. I don’t plan on starving you.”

Before I can even form a response, he is slipping out of bed and in a couple of long strides reaches his dresser, quickly retrieving a pair of sweatpants.

I sit up, too, with a frown, and it’s my turn to clench the blanket between my fingers. Out of guilt and frustration, a small sigh pushes past my lips. He’s probably still holding back because of my concussion, even though this morning I feel fine. Yes, I wanted what he had only just started, and now am left feeling somewhat empty. It’s a new, all too disappointing feeling.

Feeling as though this is my fault and I have to say something, again, I keep my gaze downward and focussed on the plush blanket, far from where Harry is stood. “I’m sorry,” I say once more, and settle for listening to him for a few short seconds as he pulls the pants up to his hips, and I still feel horrible, but he shocks me from my self-pitying reverie with a sharp command.

“Julia, look at me.” My line of sight snaps to his from across the room, and I catch the desire-filled resoluteness in his intense stare. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s not your fault I can’t control myself.”

“I—I still feel bad,” I repeat my earlier sentient with a flickering, hesitant glance to the obvious issue concealed in his sweatpants. With how he has been treating me so delicately, I don’t think he’d let me do any do anything to help his situation, even if I bluntly offered.

He smirks, however, and quickly crosses back over to stop at the edge of the bed. He leans over it and presses a quick, chaste kiss to my cheek.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’ll be fine. After breakfast I want us to sit down and talk. We have a lot to discuss that we haven’t had the chance to, what with yesterday. I want to clear the air, fully. And,” he holds his hand up and shakes his head in determination when I try to voice my protests, with wary questions of what he wants to talk about. A certain amount of dread fills me as I think of the possibilities, but I know that he’s right. After everything, we’ve hardly gotten a chance to talk, and it needs to happen soon.

Before continuing he plants another kiss to my cheek and remains close. “And, I know you aren’t fully better. You hit your head, and it’s going to take a while for you to fully recover.”

“A while? How long is that?” I question unthinkingly, because my mind is concentrated elsewhere now, on this talk he wants to have. What it could be about I’m not quite sure, but certainly has to be related to what initially put so much distance between us at The Castle. That night, with Lucy. I pale at the memory, and then even more so at the recollection of just two days ago, when she entered my house before I even got home.

Okay, so yes, the talk really is needed.

Harry doesn’t look back at me before landing one final kiss, this time to my mouth, and has the nerve to muss my hair while he turns around, answering vaguely. “We’ll see.”

He laughs when I fall back into the bed with a light groan and I have to smile, too, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to dwell too long or worry my already weary mind with what could be revealed just after breakfast—on both sides.

For now, I’m happy just where I am, content to stay here while he makes breakfast.

Notes

Oooh so Harry wants to talk! Finally. It's a little long overdue haha. I'm thinking of expanding the beginning of this chapter, where Harry has to wake Jules up throughout the night, and if that happens I'll let you guys know! It seemed a little unneeded in this chapter, though, so I decided against it for the moment.

Other than that I don't have too much to say, just a big thank you to all those who commented on the last chapter! It seriously means the world to me.

So what did you think? I absolutely love writing H&J fluff. I could write nothing but that and I think I'd be happy forever, haha :) Sadly though we've got some more serious stuff coming up!

One last thing: I want to share my tumblr with you all again, because recently I've become a little more active on it with Inherent. I've gotten into the habit of posting chapter previews (thanks to the lovely people who ask!) and in the future I might post a couple of scenes/drabbles that don't really fit into the actual story. Let me know if you'd be interested in that! :)

wild--rover.tumblr.com