Harry was pretty like this, curled up on the leather seat of Niall’s ‘57 Ford Thunderbird, his shoulder pressed in close and his lips dangerously inches away from the blond’s neck. Niall was gripping the wheel a little too tightly, even when he didn’t need to use it, since they were parked at a drive-in movie.
That was the scariest part — knowing Niall couldn’t drive anywhere and let the evening wind whip around his face; because Harry smelt really, really, really good and Niall just couldn’t let go of that thought, no matter how hard he tried, and he was losing his self-control by being cooped up in the same car as him. (And every time Harry fucking breathed, his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of Niall’s throat.)
Niall wasn’t paying attention to the childish movie (although he couldn’t say that out loud, Harry just loved the film too much, almost giddy with smiles and laughter and the blushing red cheeks, fingers fidgeting because he just loved it way too much and Niall thought of him way too cute). He was staring intently at the way his leather jacket — Harry got cold, whined about it for a bit, and then dragged the ends of Niall’s coat farther over his fingers so he was warm — slouched over the curly haired boy’s shoulders and splayed at the ends of his wrists. His lips were curved up and he was staring ahead at the screen, seeming to purposely nudge his shoulder closer into Niall’s so the older boy could go and do this because he lost every sense of control since he met the green eyed boy.
(Grab Harry’s wrist and brush his fingers over the pulse point of his warm skin.)
(Look at Harry’s mouth, obscenely red with traces of Coca Cola on the inside of his lips.)
(Whisper, “I want to kiss you so fucking bad….”)
(And spend the rest of film time rubbing his hips up into Harry’s while the boy ground down into his crouch with his hands in the blond hair, Niall tugging and pulling at his own curls, breathing heavily and listening to Harry whimpering softly every passing second as they kissed.)