No Escape (Narry, Marry, Miall)

If you listen to Harry Styles all he wanted to do was try kissing a guy. His curiosity was getting the better of him and he needed to put to rest that nagging feeling that he might be gay. Admittedly, Niall Horan is dubious, though certainly not hesitant and after the first kiss, all he wants is more. And then there's Michael Clifford, the perfect guy, some may say too perfect. Putting their hearts on the line is the last thing they expected, if it weren't for that kiss. This is Narry (Niall and Harry), Miall (Michael and Niall), and Marry (Michael and Harry) THIS IS BOYXBOY fiction so if that isn't to your liking, please venture elsewhere. It is also VERY PG-13.

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8. Temptation

"Can I stay?" Harry was still a little drunk as was I.

"Harry. I don't think that's a good idea." He was nudging me towards the front door. "At all."

"Come on. I'll be good." He crossed a finger over his heart. "I promise."

Oh I have no doubt about that.

"Look, I've got my halo." Harry pretended to reach into his pocket and pulled out nothing but made a circle with both forefingers and thumbs and raised it over his head. I shook my head as I remembered those hands sent tremors through me. "I'll be a good angel." His cherubic smile battered at my resolve. I didn't remember him to be this charming. 

I was still mad, damn it. I wanted to be mad.

Harry sighed, melodrama in high gear. "Fine, fine. I'll just walk back over to Chloe's. Get in my car, that's if it hasn't been towed, and drive drunk all the way home. I could be killed any number of ways. Struck by a motorist. Drive into a ditch. I wouldn't want to put through the guilt." He has his hands to his heart, the concern in his voice betrayed by the silly smile on his face.

"Okay. You can stay. But you're sleeping on the floor," I insisted.

He nodded readily. "Sure, sure." He gathered me up on his way to the door, rushing us both inside before I changed my mind. He shed his jacket. His t-shirt stretched across his broad chest and shoulders. I forced myself to look away. What have I done?

I watched him hustle up the stairs to my room; his ass tucked snugly in  pair of his jeans grabbing my attention.

"I'm gonna take a shower."

Part of me thrilled at the notion that he felt so comfortable with me. There had never been any of that 'he's gay, I'm straight' awkwardness from him. No innuendo, from him anyways. I trudged up the stairs, my footsteps heavy as I heard the shhhh of the shower. I stopped at the bathroom door, my hand resting on the doorknob, my forehead against the door.

Harry yanked open the door. "I need a tow..." The jeans he wore so perfectly lay puddled on the floor along with a pair of neon green briefs. He used his t-shirt to cover himself.

I was utterly mortified. I looked left and right in quick succession, my mouth working; like a fish out of water, no words coming. There was not a rock big enough I could crawl under. I turned sharply and went into my room and closed the door. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God."

There was a quiet tap-tap-tap on my door. "Horan? I still need a towel."

It was an evil plot. No good deed goes unpunished. I opened the door slowly and peeked out. Harry had climbed back into his jeans and stood there expectantly. "Just tell me where, I can get it."

I pulled the door open all the way and went to the linen closet. I handed him one of the thick over sized towels. My mind had already conjured an image of him draped in only a towel. Sure I'd already seen him naked, but a towel has it's own connotations.

"What?" He smiled mischievously. "You're picturing me in a towel, aren't you?"

I opened my mouth to reply.

He took my hand. "Come on."

I followed, my internal dialogue a cacophonous litany of swear words and doomsday warnings to which I turned a deaf ear. I was shaking my head. He closed the door quietly behind us, sealing my fate. The steamy mirrors showed nothing of my anxiety.

"We can't." My voice was barely above a whisper.

"Okay." He pulled at my t-shirt, lifting it up and over my head. He kissed the base of my neck.

"You're supposed to be good," I whined.

He leaned against me licking the base of my neck. I shuddered as his hands worked at my jeans. "I'll be good tomorrow."

The expression, weak in the knees, that cliché romance novel experience of the besotted damsel... maybe it was the heat and steam from the shower, maybe it was the remnants of the alcohol, or maybe it was Harry working his lips down my neck to my chest to my abs; whatever it was, my knees gave out. I nearly fell, but Harry grabbed me, holding me up. I draped my arms over his shoulders for support. He smiled up at me and every ounce of determination fled. I kissed him. Not one of those quick innocent pecks, no I flung my whole self into that kiss, knocking us both to the floor. He laughed into the kiss and I kissed him more. I was hungry for him.

I pushed away from him. This was not supposed to be happening. I knew me. And even more importantly, I knew him. "Harry, stop. We can't."

"What?" He looked so lost.

"We can't do this." My breathing was heavy, my words forced.

"Damn it Horan." He grabbed my hands and pulled me up and towards the shower. "Just tonight. Just you. Just me. Everything else doesn't matter."

It sounded like a line. If it weren't for the earnestness in his eyes the sincerity in his voice, I would have laughed. We stepped under the spray of hot water and my conflict washed away.

I don't remember not much of it. I remember his hands on me, I remember his lips on me, I remember the water cascading off of him. I remember him pressed against me, pressed inside me, his gentle words as he thrust inside, me pressed against the cold tile. I remember his throaty moans and me lifted on my toes and lastly, I remember him whispering my name over and over and over as he climaxed, his face buried in the crook of my neck muttering words I'm certain I was not supposed to hear.

"I love you, Niall."

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