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aggresivelyfriendly · 4 years

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Writing has been slow going, but I have something. I edited it, so expect mistakes. Take this as a balm if you didn’t get tickets or a celebration if you did!

This one is canon, assume the crossover with APOL didn’t happen. This went somewhere I didn’t expect, but the muse does what it wants, like Harry.

Tryst- Chapter 9-Cancun

The air felt close and thick, like the vapor issued from a screaming kettle, and Helene was glad, not just because her skin laid tight across her bones from the flight, but also because she knew she'd had sweat on her hairline and her palms for much longer than the taxi ride over. Probably from when she got the call from Harry.

It had been ages since they had each other. Which was good? Helene kept reminding herself. It supported her self imposed finished to their trust. This trip was nerve racking because it was for weeks. She'd have to keep her feelings locked up and her pants buttoned for longer than long. It would be hard. They'd not been together for this amount of days, in over a year. They had them a long hot weekend thanks to Gucci, but really, since tour ended, they ended, it's been little sips of his image through a tiny straw. She can't take him up the thin vein, he's too much. And when she had buried herself in his image on drives and on computers to take giant gulps, it felt desperate, so she had stopped. She had no reason to be looking at those, there were new images to edit. New jobs she had taken on, and new clientS to focus on, Better clients. She had Harry to tank for her higher profile.

Her focus, through her lens, was on point. It was her mental focus that wandered. To the drives she had buried with memories.

She did not look at those.

Well, that one night, after the very unsatisfying date with the gentlemen who absolutely did not look like Harry. Especially after he took his clothes off. She looked then.

Even that moment of weakness seemed forever ago. Time past notwithstanding, she would be spending weeks with him. A week in Mexico and one in Scotland. Helene was nervous about her feelings but her stomach was in knots over Harry's. Would he mirror the weather in each place with his ever changing moods and signals? A sultry embrace in one before a bracing chill closer to his own home?

Doubtful, he was a welcoming happy soul. He'd be happy to see them all. He loved his team, his employees.

She was, above all, his employee, though he blurred the lines so effectively with all of them, even the ones he hadn't fucked to within an inch of sanity, that she also was a friend, at the least. They were all the best of friends, separated by distance, and time, and Worse full schedules. His especially.

She was pretty sure she was the only one on the fucking list. Though she wondered about Mitch, always. But he was happily ensconced with sarah, and Helene was trying to let go of jealousy in her life. So she only used Mitch and Harry as fodder. To get her there, What ever it takes.

But now she was here. In this resort place. It was a curious choice for Harry, very touristy so far.

Nonetheless, She loved the colors, the water was teal out of the rolled down window of the hire car that had been waiting for her. She hoped there would be time for sea bathing and a margarita on the beach. He was usually good about building in down time for the crew. She could see herself relaxing, far away from him. Right under a palm tree. Those were a gray brown at the base and green green at the tops. They'd provide just enough shade. She still tanned, though she knew she outheten not to. Liked the bronze on her skin against the bright of her hair. She'd give it up at 40, she promised herself.

But Harry had traced the lines up the middle of her ass cheek with his tongue once. So, she wouldn't stop. Not yet. Not when that tongue was nearby.

🌴 🌴 🌴

Helene stepped out of the cab and saluted the driver. It was on H's tab, so there would be no awkward pause to pay the cabbie. All expenses paid, that was a perk, she should embrace it. It smarted, like a poorly placed slap on the ass.

She decided to pretend she was a kept woman rather than an employee. That felt more fun, pretending she was here on a tropical rendezvous, not a business trip with a lovely boss.

Just slight shades of meaning, they were the same thing. She knew it. And a kept woman would probably not go so long without seeing her patron.

Harry was certainly her patron. She'd done well before him, but her career has exploded with the name association.

Her life had exploded. Her heart. She was still stitching it back together. This trip was going to test its elasticity.

She had moved on, dammit. And she was sure that Harry had too, in his way. After him and Camille and well, he was so sad when she really moved on. He must have thought after tour...... but good ones don't wait.

What did that say about her?

The lobby was aggressively air conditioned. Helene was pulling her sweater out and trying to get her arm in when suddenly, the fabric was pulled away and untangled for her to slip over her shoulders.

She could smell him over her shoulder, long before she saw his face. Her body always recognized him long before she lay eyes. Her skin hummed just under its petite surface, she felt it most in the bends of her elbows, knees, where her thighs became her hips. Where the blood rushed and you could track it. Her hairline always felt tighter too, Helene found her self tidying her hair when he was close enough to smell. And her breath, it came short, even before she smelt him.

And that's when it hadn't been ages, or a time more extended than she liked, lengthened by longing.

Helene drew in a breath and closed her lids. Time for her professional face. She'd need to gauge him today. What will she be working with these next few weeks? The flirt, the obsessed artist, boss man, lover.

"Hi Helene!" He's got his arms wide. Well, friend to start. Torture.

Jesus, did he always have to look like that? It's totally unfair to other humans on the planet, herself especially included. And any man after him. She'd learned that the hard way.

Helene felt her body overruling her mind and the smell, not any different than the one he'd always had in rotation, despite their last working endeavor, envelops her with his arms. It's like the smell of her apartment on her first bath back, redolent of home.

He smelt the same, but felt different. Harder, the notch where her nose always ended up isn't as cuddly as normal, the push of his skin back onto her more robust, less a bounce. She catalogued the physical changes when she looked up from her place, his height ordering a step back. He's in a tank and shorts with a button up, wildly patterned shirt over it. Same clothes, new body.

Ah, that's why he felt different. He looked different. She remembered when she realized his ass was growing on tour, probably in Spain when his bespoke pants split. The pants had not changed dimension, he had. Everyone was laughing about it, but Harry was smug. "That's work" and he's looked over his shoulder and nodded his chin at his own growing booty. She'd had a feel or two, it was all muscle. She started tracking progress, each time they fell into bed at irregular intervals.

She thought she was discreet, until the time he asked, "how's it growing?" And bounced his eyebrows like a naughty school boy. She bet he was one, he put it on so easily. Ass.

Now he'd apparently turned his attention to his chest. His torso, if the lines under his a shirt were anything to go by, had expanded and become more michealangelo's David to raphael's.

This week was either going to be paradise or hades. Both likely.

"Hey Tiny!" He didn't call her that. Not when they were alone. It made her feel decidedly like a kid sister, despite his being her junior.

Purgatory?

"Hey boss." She looked up and willed the smile to reach her eyes.

"Heeeeey!" He stuck out his still entirely too suckable bottom lip. "Since when do you call me boss?"

Since before she fucked him and again in her head when she decided to stop. Instead she just shrugged.

"Don't like it." He looked around quickly, and leaned in and whispered. "You've seen me naked."

Oh! The flirt was back. "Everyone's seen you naked." She giggled and held in her snort at her own weakness.

"Well, yeah, and that number is about to grow." She wasn't sure what that meant and didn't have time to contemplate it. He leaned in close again. And they were all alone in the hotel lobby full of green plants and big earred ferns. "But I've seen you naked too, and I know how you taste." He let his voice drop and stood up with his smug face. His dimple pressed in when he got a look at her face.

She must have looked suitably flushed to entertain him.

"Anyway," he continued like her pupils weren't blown and she didn't need new lingerie. "I think everybody is going to lunch, Jeffrey's the only one not here yet. We were just waiting on you! Tequila?"

He was really not playing fair. This was over, she was over him. She had the relationship, rebound, under her belt to prove it. He was a menace. But she was French, still, always, so she schooled her face and feigned amused disinterest, and nodded.

"I'll need to freshen up, long flight. I can meet everybody."

"We'll wait."

"Oh no, I can't allow that."

"Then I'll wait." She was already moving to the desk, Harry by her side moved along check in.

He also rode the elevator up with her, and she was fully amused when he'd insisted on carrying her bags. She knew she liked Anne.

Helene gave him a stare when he followed her in the room and through the suite to drop her bags in the bed chamber. And then he made himself comfortable.

Helene canted her head at him and rose her brow.

"What?"

"Do you not have a luncheon to host?"

"Well, I'm the boss, as you said, and I want you there. I'm afraid if I leave you will pass out, I'd like your company, and I'll miss looking at you."

"I need a shower Harry." She tried to excuse him without having to kick him out.

"So shower." He smiled. Waved his hand in front of his nose. "Please! And I'll just hang here and check email and try not to think of you naked so I won't barge in there and delay us."

He was too much. Very presumptuous. Indelibly sexy. The little tease. "Ya know, for the poster boy of nice, you are rude." She came to stand by him and find something fresh to wear and her toilette bag. Her hip was really close to him, and he shifted so his forearm pressed to her waist. It was not a big movement, but hard to miss the heat coming off his arm into her body. The air conditioning in her room was lackluster compared to the lobby.

She looked at him and screwed her finger to her temple before she headed for the shower, ignored his flirt. He chuckled, but stopped her intently. Harry placed his hands on hers, where they were full of clothes.

"I'm happy to see you. I've missed your tiny face." He calf blinked. Then grinned. "Now hurry up! I'm hungry."

She was starved, had just been reminded of all the meals she'd been missing. Her facade stayed false though, "then go, eat." She laughed and went to shower.

Harry had said he was going to think of her naked, and restrain himself, but him being in her room was just the same. The shower steamed up the mirrors, or maybe she was doing that job. She wasn't sure she had time for what she needed, to wash and relieve. Helene settled for a PTA and moved her hand between her legs. Used the quickest most efficient motions she knew, that 1-2-3 punch combo to orgasm, took one hand away to bite her thumb, at herself apparently, to staunch her moan.

He couldn't know.

She couldn't be sure he wouldn't barge in, she wouldn't receive him, or that she wouldn't be entirely embarrassed and have to act haughty before faking the flu and hiding out in her room, or hopping a flight back to Paris.

Were they never going to recover from this insincere intimacy? His mixed signals were crazy, made her crazy.

Maybe the intimacy wasn't insincere, just impermanent or situational?

Her shower routine had seen such little change in so long she completed her washing up with little thought. Her distraction was certainly situational, if she was anywhere near harry styles it seemed.

Her hair combed through easily, and she pulled on the panties and the light dress she'd planned for, with her sandals. She was a light packer from being on the road for years. Nearly everything was interchangeable and coordinated. She could just as easily wear her trainers, but she went with the sandals because of her pedicure. Nails, we always have nails, she had to keep up with the Styles, so she'd booked herself into the spa the day before the trips, despite the tight tight schedule.

She slipped the panties over her thighs and was glad she'd shaved her inner thigh creases the day before when she fixed the elastic. The lingerie was a good choice, there was a definite breeze in Cancun, she didn't want everyone to catch sight of her rounded ass, maybe just her boss.

She almost slipped them off.

Instead, she opened the door and he was reclined on the bed.

"You are so slow."

Helene didn't deign that with an audible response, just lowered her brow and screwed up her lips at him and gathered her things.

"Efforts worth it." He said as he passed her and headed for the door. Pfft, she filled her red cheeks and followed him out.

Company, other people, maybe that would kill his damn flirty nature.

But it did not, not really. He wasn't over the top. He sat on his side of the car, didn't pull her close or sit in the middle.

His knee knocked against hers and remained when he teased her about bringing her camera. Of course she brought her camera. She was his photographer, one of them, the primary.

Then, at the restaurant, he made her take a shot with him immediately, to catch up with everybody he claimed. They pulled up to the bar after a quick round of hello, then his arm around her wrist other about her shoulder, a salsa walk to the bar. He caught her hand again and licked where her pulse was already coming quick before she had recovered from his hips against hers. She had to grab the bar to stready herself, she'd blame it on him pulling her quickly if he asked. He didn't, just rose his eyebrows, and sprayed her arm with salt, then his own, which he licked while maintaining eye contact with her. Put a lime into the small gape she didn't notice her lips had, the longer caress on her fleshy bottom lip barely noticeable, then licked her wrist, shot his casamigos, and quickly, so quickly you couldn't call it a kiss, took the lime off her.

She didn't reciprocate in total, though like his salty skin, swallowed her shot to quell the burning in her throat and belly, replaced it with a more nameable burn, but she pulled his lime free with a pinch of her thumb and forefinger.

He grinned and winked, grabbed the bartenders attention along with her hand, "two grandes por favor." Least his French accent was a bit better than his Spanish. Though, She'd teased him after hearing the audio for Gucci's odeur and tried to work on his tongue in bed, it wasn't great either. English tongues were clagey. Had he not proven her wrong, she'd doubt their ability to move pleasurably.

He'd shown her after a bit that his tongue spoke perfect French in other attitudes. It was certainly her language, they'd agreed after seven lessons straight.

Maybe he felt nostalgic as she did for days spent in bed and nights spent awake. Helene watched him walk into the group, giving arm less hugs since his hands were full of drinks. His face in the curve of a neck, like they were having a reunion, not on a job.

The magic of Harry. She was ready for a personal reunion. She'd follow him to his room after this get together and remain there. There was no denying it, him.

🏝🏝🏝

By the third day of the shoot, Helene assumes nostalgia, shared or lonely, was the feeling she'd leave Mexico with. Like tequila or the lime soup she knew she'd crave when she left.

That lingering want that outlived the availability of something. She wondered what language had a word that captured that feeling exactly. None of the ones she knew.

Nostalgia. Mexico echoed with those things she had once, but not anymore.

They'd been in a downtown area, bars on all the once brightly painted houses' windows. Streets cleared and Harry being run down in his designer clothes or riding on the backs of motorcycles without any protective gear.

His skin, she worried about his skin. A friend had some horrible road rash once, and Helene felt it would be a pity if that happened on Harry's perfect chest, or arms, or god forbid, his face.

His damned untouchable, untouched face.

The flirting had slowed dramatically, and they'd resumed their usual dynamic. Meaning she watched him down her lens and captured moments, but not his attention. His attention was usually consumed by whatever they were doing. He was busy, he was the star. He was not all over her since the day she arrived.

She'd given herself a pep talk this morning when she'd woken up from a dream, or a memory, and needed to slide her hand down her own belly to quell the tension before the sun was even fully up. It went something like-"he is your boss, your patron, before anything else. Don't pay attention to his flirtations, or lack thereof." That's what was hurting now, after that first day if she was honest. "He can't help himself. Just remember that other aspect of your relationship fondly and move on." Her French sounded just like her mother's when she gave herself talkings to.

It was easier said in the mirror than done. Mostly because many times, the way she framed him, the camera was an extension of her eye, her hand, her want. She wondered if that's why her pictures resonated with his fans. They were in the same boat.

When she arrived at the beach for the night shoot, she knew immediately she was in for it. There was music playing, lights up around a square of sound, and a collection of beautiful, scantily clad people.

Harry like his secrets, so Helene usually found herself in moments unprepared, off guard. They just happened for her a bit before the people she made photos for. She had heard snippets of the song though, in the house sets. But, since this was being shot non sequentially, she hadn't a clue what this video was about. Even what the track was concerning was a mystery.

The mists cleared and turned into a knot beneath her navel and in her throat when Harry joined the throng.

He was also scantily clad. Which wasn't to uncommon a sight, not for the crew. In the bowels of the arena, he was likely to be in basketball shorts, and little else, sometimes just boxers. This was decidedly different. The other people here were also naked, they were dancing, and everybody was oiled, them misted.

Harry was off to the side being oiled up, and she was ready to spray the mist right into her own mouth. Did she have a mister? Could she join whatever the hell was about to happen here? It looked like a beach rave in the Greek isles she'd gone to at 20.

That was a good night. She barely remembered who she went home with. But it was more than one person. It was a one off, with the couple? She thought it was a couple. But it was a sweet filthy memory.

Helene knew this was clinical, were shoots like this, but as she watched Harry get rubbed down and misted as he casually chatted with the bespeckled lady working on him, them both laughing like every tattoo he had, almost, wasnt showing, Helene thought she may need a medic. And a job application, she was in the wrong part of the entourage.

It only got worse when Harry let himself be literally pulled into the throng. Then the next several hours was spent watching beautiful people, beautiful Harry, writhe. At first she'd been concerned he'd be uncomfortable, but he looked right at home, and happy between takes, with his silly finger gun dancing and half moon dimples pressed to mirror the shape in the sky.

She watched it, and tried to detach through her lens. Though that was not her strong suit as a artist. She never was truly remote to her subject. And she was all bound up with Harry.

When the delicious torture was all over Helene was disassociating off to the side pretending to scan through her pictures.

She should not be this turned on. Jesus, it was technical, stand here so we can only see sparrows up and such, feign a kiss, but no touching. Like a lap dance for the young woman at her own personal 9-5. It wasn't sensuous, it was work. But all that flesh. All Harry's flesh.

She loved his skin. And the lights and the beautiful people. The bald girl who's been near him a good deal was particularly compelling. They had palpable chemistry. Helene was surprised she was excited by it, not frustrated or jealous.

A little jealous, or was it envy?

Helene guessed she should be getting shots. Had she caught her breath enough? She figured the answer was yes, until she looked up and realized that Harry had a bottle, bottles, of tequila, the amazing Mexican tequila they'd shot the other day, out, and he was pouring.

And he was handing out shots and hugs. The fake rave was turning into a real party. A shot came across her hand. And she shook her head and kept shooting. She got some gems.

She loved the dancing in the video, but it was essentially choreographed writhing. This was something so much better.

Harry was still shirtless, but he had his personal space and he was doing stomp steps and his hands were flapping. And he was more adorable than the goofy smiles he'd given during the shoot to lighten the mood and the exhaustion everyone was feeling. She shot everybody, but, as always, most pictures were of Harry.

She resolved tonight would not be all about Harry. If she couldn't fuck Harry, then fuck Harry.

Helene was chatting with the tall black guy with the mustache who'd caught Harry's eye at one point, he was pouring drinks and Helene was thinking how height was intoxicating, when Harry turned up.

"Pour me one?" He grinned at Xavier. Helene was glad she hadn't had any yet. She had plans for Xavier, but two more shots and she'd toss them into the waves to spend time with Harry.

Helene coughed over the shot she took, and Harry helpfully brought a lime wedge to her mouth. Less helpfully, his finger tastes like coconut oil. He tasted like a party.

Xavier said something, but all Helene could hear was the break of the wave hitting the shore behind her and within her.

"Excuse-moi." She slid away to the side, behind Xavier. He was big and his body hid her, so she didn't have to make eye contact with Harry. She held the sides of his shirtless waist, and her nose smelled coconut oil on him as well. Strangely, it was sobering compared to the slick on her tongue, the tang, left by her boss. She heard Harry's laugh as she walked away and her legs moved faster, walking on beat towards the side to drop her camera, and dance.

She'd dance this off. Dance it out.

This had seemed like a great idea, with the tequila addling her brain and filling her fallow belly. She carefully put her equipment in its bag, and left it in an obvious location and repeated it to her self, so she'd be able to find it on her way out.

The second shot burned less, but warmed more. It loosened the knot below her belly button and her spine. The song on was a Latin beat, her favorite. She hoped to remember it, but she didn't know the singer. She'd Shazamed it for later, she needed this song in her ear, it was in her veins now. She'd hoop to it.

Her hips shimmied side to side and front to back. She was laughing and holding hands with a brunette beauty for a bit. The girl led her through a proficient salsa. "Pardon!" She giggled when her barefoot slid off the top of her partners big toe.

"Oof," came out next from somebody bumping into her. The makeshift dance floor, really patch of sand had become more crowded as the tequila took effect. Helene wasnt surprised, she and Gabi were taking up more room than necessary, mostly because they didn't have their pelvises pressed together.

This became much more obvious when the bump showed itself to be much more intentional. There was more than a pelvis, and it was pressed to her bum. The impression was familiar. The smell of the man dancing on her was not though.

"You smell funny." She slurred and looked over her shoulder and up the bare chest to his face. He was looking down at her and his red nose fairly glowed, like a cartoon reindeer on a misty night.

"Aloe Vera." He glanced the top of his pointer finger off his nose then his shoulder. "Jane got me before the oil, and then again when I was trying to get everybody in a party spirit."

"Ah!" Well, he was less lickable then, she took as a positive. Until he turned her toward him, away from Gabi, who had moved on to a more focused partner while Harry was distracting her.

He was still lickable.

Her hips fell into the rhythm he was creating, like they'd done this before. And they Had, she supposed, just in a more horizontal attitude. She loved to bat herself about to his beat. She shook her head, bad thoughts away. "How did you get so burnt? You wear sunscreen no?"

He scratched the back of his neck. Ah, this was a confession. "I was trying out a new face cream, for a friend. I just assumed it had sunscreen, ya know." He shrugged.

"All from one day?"

Oh no, it took a bit. The first two."

"So that explains your face, what about your shoulders."

"I got carried away in a scene, decided it would be better with less... coverage." he scanned her in her summer dress. "Like most things." He bit his lip.

Helene felt her eyes roll, she'd been around Americans a lot apparently.

"Do you feel overdressed?"

"What?"

"Well everybody else is in their pants!" His shrug was almost Gallic.

"Well, I have a little burn myself."

"Did you forget sun lotion too."

"No, the mexican sun is strong as the tequila." She laughed at his giggle. "But, my pants and bra, were lace, not good on a sunburn." She shrugged, watched his eyes narrow them widen while he checked her out, then turned, rolled her body over his semi and walked to get more tequila.

He predictably followed her. "M. Panbrum," he whispered in her hair above her ear, "are you implying you aren't wearing any undergarments."

Helene gave him a half smile and took a shot, without offering him one.

The movement of his Adam's apple up and down his throat in response was a better burn than shot number three. Perhaps she was getting immune? Or was tipsy already. "Qui!" She stepped toward the dance floor, and was surprised it was more empty than it had been before. The party seemed to be winding down. She'd missed the climax.

"Let's go back." He pressed close to her, she could feel his nipples through her dress on the top of her shoulders. She felt him rub over her hip, then slightly higher, then down the crack of her ass. She appreciated the thorough search, but the lace and elastic had been insufferable this morning, so she'd opted out.

Would she opt out now?

Helene looked at Harry. Shirtless, sweaty, oiled and veraed Harry. "Why?"

"Um..." he blinked, faster than she had ever seen him blink. "What'd ya mean why?"

"I mean, why would I go back with you?" It felt like an honest question, one she was maybe asking years to late.

"Well..." he stuttered, and scratched the back of his neck, his giggle trilled nervously. His cheeks pinked. She couldn't believe her audacity either. "I just, well, before, and well," he blinked, slower this time. "Do you not, did we not?" He looked up then, and his face cleared a little bit. "Did you not have good time." He looked vulnerable, sad, at the notion.

"That's not how I would put it." She sighed. She was tired suddenly, and maybe drunk.

"Did I?"he looked at her close, then down to the sound. She almost didn't hear the words. "Have I hurt you, Helene?"

Unexpectedly, her eyes welled up. She would have been embarrassed or managed the feelings that wanted to spill down her face, but she couldn't when she realized he was tearing up to. This was not a conversation for the beach. This was a conversation for windy wet Scotland, not Mexico.

"Let's talk at the hotel. I'll take another car, so I can." She fanned her face, gave him a look.

He agreed, and had somebody getting transport together within minutes.

Helene was astounded. She'd known, or should have known he would expect them to pick up where they left off, she'd not told him it was the last time, last time. They didn't talk about it, they'd never talked about it. Just their desire was spoken and then acted on.

Her car left first, as Harry had more goodbyes to make. Helene beat him back to the hotel and had time to worry, agonize, and worst of all, hope. He'd been moved.

Did it mean anything? Or was it just his kind heart.

She was just about to lock the chain, put out the lights, and open the mini bar when her phone dinged followed by a quiet knock.

That was faster than she expected. He'd skirted rudeness, she assumed, to get here so soon.

"Helene," he immediately started talking when she opened the door and he walked in like he was much taller than her remembered, the way he looked taller on stage, the inches added by purpose.

She couldn't. Her hand went up, all red and geometric. "Want a drink?" She interrupted.

The tension didn't leave his shoulders, but the shiver moved down his arms and he sat. "No, not really."

"I'd like to have one with you." She needed a bracer, they needed to brace.

"Ok." He watched her make it. She could feel his eyes and loaded tongue. She was amazed really.

She poured the wine. She wanted tequila, but they weren't getting naked immediately, so, it seemed the wrong spirit. Her spirit trembled. Sh handed him his goblet and tapped hers tO the rim of his and gulped hoping one intoxication was better than the other.

"So, I like the song. I can't wait to hear all of it, not snippets. And the video, well, it'll cause a stir." She smirked.

"Um, yeah. Like, that's the hope. I'm just at kinda tired, of like, covering up."

"Physically to metaphorically."

"Both."

"Yeah, I could see that. Good for you harry!" She tried for a smile.

The varnish on it faded when she looked up. His hand on hers was like sandpaper. "I'm tired of not, not saying things. Helene.—"

"Harry, I'm not sure I'm ready."

"You were nearly crying at the beach? Helene. I think I'm not ready." He sighed. "I thought. Well, we always.....were you not having a good time?"

She laughed, it wasn't nervous, more a burst of emotion. "Harry, I think it was clear that I had a good time. You could feel that, no?" She pouted her lips on no. God she wished she had kept it together. Then she could be sleeping or...

He smiled, though it didn't crinkle his eyes. He pushed out a breath that a liar would describe as a chuckle. "Yes, In the moment. But what about after."

"Well the moment tended to last all night, so" her thumb cascades over his knuckles, rubbing between.

"Stop trying to distract me!" He spoke swiftly. ""Helene, what about after? The next morning, or on the ride home."

"Damn, she forget occasionally that he is perceptive, when he chooses to look, or maybe sensitive was a better word. It usually hit on the plane home, when the sore thighs and raw lips weren't happy mementos but badges of abandonment.

She sighed. She may as well get this over with. She'd been afraid of his disinterest, or solely physical interest. She'd assumed it though, so there was that. The confirmation couldn't hurt worse than the rumination. "After," she moved her shoulders as effortlessly as she could push through. "After, I remembered a good time."

"And you felt?" He touched her jaw, so she couldn't slide her gaze away.

"I felt, like I should be more than a memory."

"But you are, Helene, we are friends." At that she dropped his hands.

"No, I'm your employee!" she said while she stood up, her wine upended and she excused herself to get a towel.

"My employee?" He followed her into the bathroom.

"Fine, then you're my patron, and the sex was part of my fealty." She stomped back out to sop up the wine.

"Helene, stop, what are you saying? That you felt like if you didn't sleep with me I'd fire you, because that's rubbish. You aren't my like, artist project, or my employee. You're more than that."

"I'm both those things. And your next door lover when you are lonely, or alone, or horny. But, in all cases, I serve you." She could feel the tears on her face. Kept it pointed down like a arrow tip.

Harry knelt down with her, her hands trapped by his knees over where she had been pressing the white towel hand onto the rug frantically trying to get the red hue to absorb into the towel, to clean up this mess she didn't mean to make.

This was all wrong. They were supposed to be easy. They could be flirting and fucking. She knew she had feelings years ago my now. Had nursed them, and then weaned herself. Feelings were unfortunate; they held you up. Here she was crying when she could be touching him, letting him touch her. Helene had come to the end of her fraying feelings. She'd snapped some time ago, she just hadn't told him.

Harry pulled her hands up, held them against her miniature struggle. "Please look at me Helene."

And then he waited, until she could. Helene pushed against the wine weakly while she willed her eyes to dry

When her eyes finally connected to his, she saw the gleam he got, when he was overtaken. He was the only man she knew who let that happen often without embarrassed words and trips to the bathroom. That may have been the first string she pulled, maybe even before their first sleep over, before Bologna. His wet eyes and softness before his hard body. Helene had liked him for his heart. She'd liked him all along.

It was why she waited as long as she did to say no more. One of the reasons. She should have said it out loud so they wouldn't be frantically cleaning wine out of a carpet on a Thursday night in Mexico before they got trapped in a tin can high in the sky.

She loved his vulnerability. And the way his eyes looked in photos when they glistened. She loved his face in photos almost more.

Like now. But, She'd never caught a tear on his cheek.

She didn't have a camera now. She'd have to actually be in this moment, not capture it. He let her bring her hand to his face to trace the tear back to its origin.

"Helene," he swallowed. "How long have you felt like this? Like I, um" definitely didn't needed a lens. "Like I used you, or whatever." He used her thumb to dash his other tear.

She shrugged. She didn't have a good answer to that question. Maybe always, maybe only right now.

"I'm not sure I knew I felt that way."

"But you do feel that?" He pressed his forehead to hers. "That and Um," he hiccuped, "you didn't have a choice because you work for me."

She shook her head there. "No, that I don't feel. I was just angry." She was a cornered animal, striking out. Not that she felt, less forced, she could absolve him a bit.

"Thank Christ." His eyes closed and she was thinking how altogether pleasant his symmetry was. No, she did it because she wanted him. Even now, with his heartbreakers face and broken heart.

"I like being with you, I chose to be. But I think it hurt me, that you." She swallowed, her own tears clogging her throat and pressing down the sides of her nose. "That you are fine with having me for a small time here and there, but not everyday."

"I never knew having you everyday was an option." He pulled back and looked at her, his focus shifting from one eyeball to the other. "Is it an option? Everyday?"

Helene filled her cheeks at that. How did she not have an answer? "Do you want it to be an option." Oh, yeah, the gaping fear of rejection inside her.

"Helene," he tsk'd. "I think we got started at a weird time, but, you never." He chuckled. "You never said. But neither did I. I really thought I'd gotten better at this." The wry grin brought a wet smile to her own. "It will be complicated." He tilted his head, and his lips gentled about his teeth.

"Will be?"

"For us to be together. With tour. And my traveling, and your other gigs. But, I wouldn't mind. Plus the rest, you know." He flipped his hand sideways, like the judgements of a million or more fangirls were nothing. "But I wouldn't mind." he shrugged and gave her a boyish smile. "Having you for more mornings."

"Wouldn't mind?" That wasn't enough.

"No." He held both hands. She'd dropped the towel and missed it. "I'd be lucky to have you to wake up to. And go to bed with. And to cook for. And pick hooping songs with. And watch those documentaries you like." They laughed. The last time when they'd been to fucked out to touch each other, he'd nodded off three times when she convinced him to watch one, she'd tried to keep him awake. He'd have liked it, she was sure. "But it'll be complicated. You know, they love you now..."

"It would be an honor, and a pleasure," she winked her eyebrows up and emphasized the word. "To see you at home. Yours and mine, and watch those old movies you like. And listen to whatever album you love over and over for two weeks exclusively. And eat the food you like." She was not committing to cooking, no matter if she was committed to him.

"So?"

"So." She nodded and kissed him with the salt on their lips. And their tongues, chins, and collarbones.

His neck tasted of aloe and coconut oil and after she'd discovered the scent and flavor went well below his collar, down to the nipple she was trying to play, it occurred to her that it probably went everywhere. Essentially.

"Does all of you have the spray on?" She didn't like it, it tasted wrong. Like her new first time with him was with somebody new. She didn't want anybody new.

"All but where the trunks covered." He slid his whole hand, fingers splayed, into her hair, and canted her head back to take her mouth. "Blah. That's gross."

"Merci!" She countered.

"Not you, that taste is from me." He wiped his tongue on his Hawaiian shirt tail.

"We should shower."

"Yeah." He pulled her behind him, and was messing with the knobs a moment later. Her fingers found the last few clinging buttons on his Hawaiian shirt from behind. He did love to dress to the occasion. She loved their height difference, the way the curve of his ass stopped at the tips of her hips bones. She cascaded her nose from one scapula point to the other.

"You're distracting me." He whined.

"Mmmhmmm." She confirmed. His pants, the joggers he'd slipped on over his briefs from the shoot, fell easily once she pulled the elastic side. His trunks she had to push down.

"This is backwards. Usually you're naked and I'm dressed." She liked the humor in his voice.

"This way is better." She wrapped a hand around him.

"Well," he turned around without upsetting her grip, looked between them to his rising pride and her clothed form and smirked. "It has its perks!" Then she was off her feet.

"You fucker!" She squealed. At least the water soaking into her clothes was warm. "Harry!" She squealed and laughed when he lifted her up to press her back to the side of the shower. Her clothes were already soaked to her and getting them off was a chore.

Wearing them drenched was worse. And the cling wasn't the only reason. She needed to be free, like she felt with him. And now, she imagined more so, without comfortably silent feelings.

Harry was adept at getting wet clothes off, or dresses off, she'd seen. The panties rolled up as they came off, but she felt even more weightless than any other interlude they'd had when he hoisted her up to get them to fall off her feet.

"Stop laughing!" He giggled. "I keep clacking my teeth against yours. I'm trying to kiss you."

"You have to stop laughing too. My teeth are hitting yours for a reason."

"I can think of something that's fun!" He raised his eyes brows and lowered his hand. "Yet quiets giggles."

"No!" She shook her head and squirmed, though a moan escaped despite her when his finger hooked along her anterior wall, found that spot. "Non! I hate shower sex!" She licked his neck. "And you still taste horrible."

"You hate shower sex?" He boggled and it gave him a double chin. The rub was he was still attractive, with three folds beneath his cleft and all.

"It takes all the wetness away."

He moved his fingers and raised an eyebrow at the squelch.

"That's water. It's not the same!" She pouted her lips a bit.

"Well, what do you suggest instead of sex?" He looked hard to impress.

Helene reached for a cloth and the bergamot orange body wash and Sudsed up. "I'll wash you."

He rolled his eyes, but certainly didn't stop her.

The flannel glanced over his smooth skin with Helene's hand pausing over the good bits, the ones that made him shiver. Her mouth chased the cleansing cloth, her teeth and tongue too.

She cleaned where he had been covered as well. Just for fun and so she could taste him.

He toweled her off. Then picked her up, like she loved, and carried her to the bed.

Her back hit the bed, and the comforter exhaled around her. She wasn't able to catch her breath when he coasted his long body over her. She'd always loved how they fit together, at all the essential points, despite their height difference.

Like their mouths. He was still the best kiss of her life. He gave himself over to it, like he did to the audience onstage. His mouth communicating what his voice often didn't express. His tongue was lithe, and flit around and caressed her tongue so well she always felt it everywhere. Between her lips, between her legs, and especially in her heart. She'd always tuned out, sure it was miscommunication. It spoke of of his feelings, enlivened hers. Today, she listened to him. To his investment, and abandon. The way he followed her lead and listened to her moans. That he used tongue only after deep lip locks, and licked into her mouth like closing an envelope. Sealed them together. It would take a rip to rend them apart.

Except it didn't. His cascade down her body, usually hurried and hungry, was smooth and sharp, like a letter opener gently applied. She was open, and full of words. Mostly Harry and please. He unlocked her further, she was pretty sure the word love passed her lips, at least lover, when he found her sensitive nipples, and impressions between her lips, and mouthed over her hip bones to the divots where her thighs connected to her pelvis.

"Harry!" She pushed up on her elbows.

"Shhhh!" He popped a dimple and she wanted to be annoyed. He was annoying, but so cute, and lovely, and maybe hers, that she lay back. He pulled her down the covers, the slide of her body audible, and set her feet as close to the ground as they reached, then cuddled into her thighs before easing them open. The bed was high, but he must have measured, or gotten very lucky, because he only had to pull her forward to get his Mouth on her from his knees, open his mouth, extend his tongue.

The first lap, from tail to top was wonderful, especially because Helene had to finally yank his hair almost from his head to get him to stop biting her thighs and kissing her honeymoon muscles, sucking them. The first taste, to where she swelled, was such a relief, she cried.

"Harry! Now." She'd sat up to give the command. He smirked, and before she might have been made to wait, but instead he nodded and danced his hand up her torso to lay her back. His finger lingered on the peak of her breast. That was lovely, remarkable even, but she nearly forgot, would have, with the sensation of his tongue licking into her hole and up until it flicked over the hood at the end top of her clit. The tiny suck to where her lips met was new. She tried to enjoy it rather than think about its origins. Several rounds of this, a swirl around her center, before gentle suction entwined with tongue strokes had her crazy.

He was so good at giving head. Was it just that mouth? Or the expectation of that mouth that he'd risen too.

Her temperature, heart rate, respiration rose too. Her voice filled the room. "Fuck, je jouis!" Her back came clean of the bed and her legs would have clamped Harry's head had he not caught them. He held them open through the "arret, please stop, arret!" Through the second orgasm and the lazy slide of his tongue through the creamy ooze. He slinked up her body where she had two hands in her hair.

"I'm gonna get a condom." He kissed her with all her flavors between his lips and she waited for the shakes to stop. She thought he was gone but a minute, it felt like hours. She missed him, so she hoisted herself up to get to him.

Helene's mouth around him got Harry back to full steam, and the heavy hang to his left, just like she liked it, wet her appetite anew. Her strokes over him and the play of his foreskin made him pull her off with a gentle tug of her hair.

"I'll come." He chided.

"Hmmmm." That was not a night ender, but the delay wasn't favorable to either of them. Helene watched him slide the skin over himself. She slid up the bed so the pillows pushed her shoulder and neck up. She wanted him close in on her, get all their relevant points touching. She wanted to feel his mouth and see his eyes, the whole way through.

For a moment, just a moment, she worried she would not get her way. The concern intensified when he stopped and stared.

"What?" She notched her nose next to his. Why'd you stop.

"Just trying to capture the moment." He slid up the bed between her thighs, wrapping one around his own leg, and sliding two fingers through her wetness and inside to spread her around.

"Should take a picture. I've heard they last longer."

"No, memories can't be destroyed. Pictures can. I'll just stop, take you in." She could feel him, blunt and insistent at her entrance. "Especially as you take me in." Their exhales met in the inches between their mouths, maybe the repelling force was why Helene's head pushed back into the pillow. She felt her chin hit his nose. Imagined he had to move his head out of the way, couldn't know for sure. Her eyes had closed at the feel of him in her. The heartbreaking pressure, pop, and easing burn. He was talking. "Have I ever told you I love your face when we fuck, especially the first stroke. You look overwhelmed and determined." He held said face, her eyes blinked open when his thumb caressed her fingers. "Alive. I'll remember this too, yeah?"

"Harry," Helene flexed her hips up to bring him closer. "Stop talking."

He nodded, clutched her chin for a deep kiss, one that left her speechless certainly, and gripped her hips.

The pace felt leisurely, and her body frantic. The mismatch was like those outfit that shouldn't work, but suit the wearer. She would wear him three days at a time if she could. The pressure was constant, except for the three times he teased her with the tip, and pulled either just out or to the brink, waited for her beg, and pressed back in.

If he didn't stop fucking around she might kill him.

When he trapped her right thigh under his to stroke slow, deep, and steady, she accidentally hit him in the head with her elbow while she grabbed the pillow behind her. She needed to fuck him in her bed, it had a proper head board, iron rods to grip. "Sorry."

He shook off her accidental blow and grinned up at her from above. "Good?"

He'd never asked that. He knew he was good, so good. "So good, oh oui." She lifted her other leg so he glanced off her end and went farther. "Ahhh!"

"That's it." He kissed her while she moaned through her second coming and only let the final wordless sound be unobstructed by his tongue.

His easing strokes had her kicking the sheets, she could hear her heels slide up and down. Damn flip flops on hot sand all day.

"You good?"

"Mmmhmm, so good." She gave him a dewy look and grabbed hold while he rolled them over. In this position, where her heels reached just below his knees, she knew her size, and her power.

He was throbbing within her, humping in tiny motions to get friction, though he'd just hampered his own ability to move.

Helene felt ready to help him out. But not before another lovers kiss. She'd loved the dirty kisses, over the bend of her back, with someone's essence in the others mouth, with teeth more than tongue, but nothing beat these sweet filthy latherings he was favoring her with.

"Ride me?" He begged when she slid her tongue away.

She liked this switch, her sated for the moment, him needy. She liked him needy and talking. The tears in his eyes in the living room where they cleaned the wine.

His eyes were wet again, but from desperation. She stayed stretched out on him, and circled his hips to keep him suspended and get his mouth. His fucking mouth. "I love your mouth."

"Would you like to kiss it everyday?" His words were rapid, a little labored.

"Oui."

"You're welcome to, but for the love of god, make me come, please Helene."

It was her turn to smirk, her hips stilled and he grabbed her to make her move, but she shook her head and kissed him like he wasn't standing before the finish line, like good morning not good night.

Then she sat up, and back, got her knees beneath her, griped his and slid his full length in and out at a bounce until his begging turned to praise.

"Holy fuck!" He sat up on his elbows, then fell back to the bed. But he kept his eyes open. Watched their connection, she knew they were both capturing the moment, the memory. "You look so good, on me, oh god!" And he couldn't keep looking. His head f ppback and his voice going hoarse over his note of completion. "Oh baby!" Was a beautiful lyric she'd not heard addressed to her.

He pulled her down to him, before she could collapse, and they cuddled, until she excused herself to have a post coital pee and rinse. They cuddled more after him joining her.

And the next morning, after an enthusiastic wake up call.

And throughout the week in Scotland. They made moments and captured them, and Helene never felt so insecure that it would be the last of them that she took a photo.

She didn't need to look at him through her lens to capture him, for now, he was hers.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #tryst #cancun #a balm #or a celebration #chapter 9

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pedroscurls · 7 years

Text

@dixonsvixon2017 requested: Can you do a JDMxreader imagine where she plays Cherry Pie by Warrant and gives him a lap dance and strip tease and smut proceeds to happen?

Word Count: 4,439 Author's Note: This was absolutely fun to write! I added a bit of backstory (reader is a stripper whose boss is under surveillance for some illegal activity and JDM -- the police officer -- requires help from a woman he meets). So, thank you @dixonsvixon2017 for this request! I had so much fun writing it and imagining Joe Merriweather as the face claim. I hope you enjoy it just as much as I did writing it! :) Warning: Smut!!!

You were new to Tease. At first, you started as a bartender. You were always so uncomfortable with working at a strip club, but it helped pay your way through school. When your boss offered you a “promotion” as a stripper, you knew you couldn’t refuse the offer simply because of the increase in your pay.

Tonight, however, you were back behind the bar. It had only been a couple of days since you were promoted. You usually focused more on the music rather than the act itself. Yes, you danced on men and yes, you slid down poles, but you drew the line at removing your clothes.

It was Sports night, so your uniform behind the bar required a Sports jersey and bikini shorts underneath.

You always loved baseball, so you decide to wear black bikini shorts with a baseball jersey over your black lacy bra. You buttoned the jersey enough to cover your abdomen, but enough to reveal your cleavage. Your boss had told you that since hiring you, business had skyrocketed.

You were swaying your hips to the music absently, fixing up drinks for the men that were seated around the stage. The good thing about being a bartender was that not many visitors decided to sit at the bar itself unless all chairs and tables were taken.

As you were pouring a drink into the glass, you heard a deep voice calling out his order.

“Can I get a beer, please?”

You handed the other woman the drink to give to one of the men waiting before you decided to turn your attention to this man who decided to sit at the bar.

When your eyes met his, you felt your breath being taken away.

He was handsome.

He was clad in a light blue button up that was buttoned enough to reveal his peeking chest hair. The stubble on his face didn’t hide the fact that he had dimples. His hair was slightly slicked back, but it was slightly disheveled to give off the vibe that he could have a good time, but he could also be serious. His sleeves were folded up to his elbows, revealing the tattoos that littered his forearms.

“Oh, of course. Uh, Heineken or Corona?” You asked.

“Surprise me,” he smiled.

“Corona it is.”

You opened the bottle and set it on the counter, watching as his eyes deviated to the stage. You sighed. Of course. He was probably here to release some stress from work, but when he didn’t get up to sit at one of the vacant tables near the stage, you arched a brow.

“You like to watch from afar?” You asked hesitantly.

“It’s my first time here at one of these things,” he admitted.

“By one of these things you mean a strip club?”

He laughed quietly, “Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

“Well, it’s pretty self-explanatory. As long as you’ve got dollar bills, you’ll do fine. If you like something you see, then reward the girl and if you want a lap dance, you pay extra. Simple as that.”

“How come you aren’t up there?” He asked.

You arched a brow, looking at the orders of drinks that you had to make before your coworker were to retrieve it.

“I’m kind of new here. Maybe three months. Started out as a bartender and as of three days ago, I should be up there, but one of the bartenders called out sick, so here I am.”

You continued conversation, mixing drinks to the customers liking before setting it on the black tray for your coworker to retrieve.

“You seem a bit too innocent to be one of the strippers,” he said.

You laughed quietly, shrugging a shoulder.

“Guess so, but apparently, I can shake my ass better than the girls who have been doing this for a long time. Besides, this is just temporary. I’ve been here three months and I’m making more money than I have at my previous job.”

The man laughed again. “I’m Jeffrey, by the way.”

You screeched internally. Maybe working here wasn’t such a bad thing, but that also left the looming question of what was he doing here.

“I’m [Y/N].”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, [Y/N].”

The way you name rolled off his tongue made you bite your lower lip and squeeze your legs. It wasn’t helping that you were dressed in lesser clothing than what you were used to.

“So, you said it’s your first time at one of these strip clubs, right?”

Jeffrey nodded.

“What’s your opinion on it? How do you like it?”

Jeffrey smiled, “Well, I’m more interested in talking with the bartender than having a random girl straddle my waist or take their clothes off to be honest.”

You blushed, looking down at the ice bin before you got another round of drinks.

“You think you’re really charming, huh?” You teased, your attention focused on the drinks at hand.

“Hm, maybe just a tiny bit.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head and finishing the drinks quickly. You glanced over at Jeffrey to see that his eyes were focused solely on you and it was different because he wasn’t allowing his eyes to deviate to your backside, your exposed legs, or your cleavage. He was being a gentleman. He was simply watching how you worked.

“You said you worked here three months. How do you like it?” Jeffrey asked.

You shrugged, “I can’t complain. It pays the bills and my school, and it also leaves me more to spend however I please. The manager can be better, though.”

You knew that badmouthing your boss would bite you in the ass later in life, but Jeffrey seemed genuinely concerned and interested. He didn’t seem like he would turn around and tell your boss anyway. Either way, you weren’t worried.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he gives me the creeps, but then again, I guess that’s what happens when you work at a strip club.”

Jeffrey narrowed his eyes. “Not necessarily, [Y/N]. You’re here to work and despite it being a very different job than what is normal, it’s still a job. There are still boundaries that an employer cannot break.”

“Guess you’re right, besides, he hasn’t tried anything on me and even if he did, he would certainly get his ass handed to him,” you said.

Jeffrey chuckled, flashing her his dimples. “You’re funny.”

“Why’s that? Don’t believe I can kick a man’s ass?” you asked, arching a brow.

“Oh, no no. I certainly wouldn’t want to find out, but you’re innocent looking and then you say something like that and it’s – it’s unexpected.”

“Yeah, well you ever hear the phrase of don’t judge a book by its cover or looks can be deceiving? Well, that’s me.”

You smiled, looking up at him. They were having a nice conversation, but in the back of her mind, you had to ask why he was here. There had to be some sort of reason.

“Jeffrey? Why are you here?

He cleared his throat, fidgeting with his empty beer bottle.

“When’s your break?” He asked.

“I don’t do that. Just because we’ve had a nice conversation doesn’t mean I’ll –”

“[Y/N], calm down.” Jeffrey said, flashing his police badge. “I just want to talk, that’s all.”

“What’s going on? Who are you?” you asked.

“I need your help. You’re new here so I know you won’t stay loyal to Colin, but we have to talk privately.”

“How did you know my boss’s name is Colin?” You asked.

“Can we talk outside?”

You slowly nodded, motioning to your coworker that you were going to take your lunch. On the way out, you grabbed your coat and walked out of the strip club with Jeffrey behind you.

He led you to his car that was parked across the street, giving them both the privacy they needed. You didn’t know why you followed him, why you even listened to him, but there was something about Jeffrey that was so genuine.

You knew that he wasn’t lying and whatever he was about to tell you would change the way you would look at Colin.

“I need you to get some information on Colin,” Jeffrey said.

“What do you mean information?”

“Files, notebooks, receipts, anything. Do you ever go into his office?”

You shook your head.

“I need you to try and sneak in then. We’ve been monitoring him for almost a year now. I think he’s an accessory to a murder and he’s also dealing with drugs.”

“I’m going to quit. Oh my god. I’m going to fucking quit,” you said.

Jeffrey shook his head. “No, no, no. You can’t, [Y/N]. I need you to do this, okay?”

“What if I get in the crossfire of things?!”

“You won’t because I’ll be there.”

“How will you be there if I’m supposed to be your link to figuring all of this out, Jeffrey?!”

“We’re going to have you go in there with a wire and a camera. Do you wear glasses?”

You nodded, “On occasion, yes.”

“Great. We’re going to attach a microscopic camera to your glasses. We will see everything you see and we will hear everything you hear. The second this plan goes south, we will bust in guns ablaze.”

“I don’t even know you! What makes you think I’ll do it?”

“Because I know you’re struggling with school. I know you have a brother who’s sick back home. I know that this job is the only thing keeping you going with financial stability, but I also know that you hate coming into work because of Colin. I have a few of my guys undercover and they always tell me that Colin pay close attention to you especially,” Jeffrey explained.

“You looked me up? Was our entire conversation back in the bar set up?” you asked, slightly shocked.

“At first, yes, it was, okay? Then I started talking to you and it was nice. I enjoyed it.”

“We barely talked for a good hour, Jeffrey.”

“Yeah, well, if you fucking know me, you’d know that it’s hard for a woman to get my attention. But that’s beside the point.”

You sighed. You really did feel uncomfortable around Colin. The other girls always told you that he acted that way with newcomers, but it didn’t give him the right to ogle you as if you were a piece of meat.

“You said you’re going to make sure I don’t get caught?” you asked.

Jeffrey nodded, “I’ll make sure you’ll be okay, [Y/N].”

“You’re asking quite a lot for someone you just met.”

“You’re my only hope. If I had another way to resolve this, I would, but I don’t. You have my word. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I fucking promise.”

You felt an odd sensation of comfort. There was no way you were actually trusting him, right? Maybe you were, but only because he was a police officer.

“… Okay, Jeffrey.”

His smile made you blush. You couldn’t get enough of it.

“Here’s my number. Don’t hesitate to call me. About anything,” he said.

You nodded, motioning back to the strip club. “I better get going. I’ll talk to you later, Jeffrey.”

The following day, Jeffrey texted you that you would have to talk to Colin. So, when you stopped by the police station to have the mic and camera set up to your glasses, you couldn’t help but feel nervous.

Jeffrey noticed.

“You’re going to be okay. We’ll be right across the street.” He said, adjusting your glasses onto the bridge of her nose.

You scrunched your nose, looking up at him. He was in your personal space and you couldn’t help but let your eyes deviate to his chest hair that was peeking past his shirt. Oh, and he smelled good. You could have stood there all day, reveling in the close proximity.

“You’re set,” Jeffrey said, interrupting your thoughts.

“Oh … Okay.”

Jeffrey stared into your eyes for a moment, smiling to himself. He knew this was going to go as smoothly as possible.

“Maybe after all of this… We can have a cup of coffee or something,” he suggested.

You smiled, “Is that your way of asking me out?”

“So what if it is?”

“If it is, then I’d like that very much.”

Jeffrey grinned.

There go those fucking dimples again.

“Great. Now, let’s get this over with.”

An hour later and you were fidgeting in the seat across Colin’s desk. Despite your attire, he made it apparent that he was allowing his eyes to rake every inch of your body. It was highly uncomfortable.

Before you could talk, he excused himself at the sound of a knock. You looked over your shoulder to look at the other man who entered the room. You cleared your throat. You were really hoping that Jeffrey and the rest of his crew were seeing what you were seeing.

“I’ll be right back, love. Don’t go anywhere,” Colin said, winking.

You nodded. When the door shut, you immediately began rummaging through the drawers of his desk. You had to work quick.

Until you found a bag of cocaine stuffed at the last drawer.

“I hope you’re fucking seeing this, Jeffrey.”

When you heard footsteps approaching, you immediately walked back to your seat. You needed to act normal.

After a very awkward conversation with Colin, you exited the strip club. You walked to your car and sighed, rubbing your eyes as you removed your glasses.

“I better get something in return,” you mumbled under your breath, forgetting about the mic and camera that was set up with your glasses.

Jeffrey listened intently with an arched brow.

“He’s hot, but he’s way out of your league. Plus, he’s a bit old,” you told herself, trying to reason with your raging thoughts about Jeffrey.

Jeffrey grinned, deciding to dial her number.

You flinched at the abrupt noise before it finally sunk in.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

Hesitantly answering your phone, you bit your lower lip at the sound of Jeffrey’s voice.

“Good work,” he said.

In a rush, you replied, “You heard everything I said, didn’t you?”

Jeffrey glanced around, making sure no one would hear him.

“I’m not old,” he mumbled, “And I can definitely show you a better time than half the guys my age.”

You cleared your throat. Oh. You were definitely feeling aroused now.

“I guess you’ll have to prove that,” you smiled, looking directly into the camera and winking.

Later that night, you were dressed in a skimpy red, lace, two-piece lingerie. Colin told you that you were the only one allowed to wear lingerie, simply because it made you look more innocent than you already did.

You were moving your hips along the beat of the song before your eyes caught Jeffrey walking into the club. You bit your lower lip, locking eyes with him as the movement of your hips became more defined and pointed.

You watched him walk to the bar, whispering something into the ear of the bartender. Moments later, Colin appeared from the backroom and began talking with Jeffrey. It seemed like a civil conversation.

Instantly, Colin motioned for you to get off stage. You did as he asked, walking towards the bar. You innocently stood next to Jeffrey, glancing up at him before your eyes settled on her boss.

“This man here has requested for a private show,” Colin said.

“Oh… I haven’t done a private show yet, Colin,” you replied.

Colin immediately shook his head. “What better time to learn than now? Am I right?” He laughed, slapping Jeffrey on the back.

Jeffrey forced a smile, looking down at you.

“Okay… Follow me this way.” you said, walking away from the bar as you led Jeffrey to one of the private rooms. You could tell that his eyes were deviating.

“You’re really beautiful,” he mumbled.

You looked over your shoulder at him, shutting the door once you were both inside.

“Thanks. Now, why are you really here?”

Jeffrey took a seat, glancing around the spacious room. There was a pole at the corner of this room and a small stage in front of him. It was definitely a place to entertain its guest.

“I wanted to see you,” he said.

“And you couldn’t text me to do that?”

“I may have taken what you said to offense. I’m not old,” Jeffrey repeated.

You giggled, “That’s why you came back here?”

“Amongst other things. I was kind of hoping you would be working at the bar.”

“Not many men would say something like that when they’ve got a woman dressed like this right in front of him.”

“I’m not most men, I guess. You gonna show me why you got promoted?” Jeffrey teased.

“Oh, you’re really asking for it, aren’t you?”

Jeffrey smiled, “We’re going to arrest him tomorrow. Good job, [Y/N].”

You bit your lower lip, absently squeezing your legs at the way your name escaped his lips.

“I’m glad to have helped.”

Jeffrey stood up, beginning to walk to the door to leave before he felt a hand wrap around his wrist. He turned around, looking down at you.

“I’m not paying you to dance for me,” he said.

“Don’t. I want to do this. I’d rather you be my first,” you mumbled.

“And hopefully your last private show,” he added.

You smiled. “Why? Do you get jealous?”

Jeffrey narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I get fucking jealous, all right. Are you sure you want to do this?”

You nodded without hesitation.

“Hell yes,” she replied. “Now, take a seat.”

Jeffrey cleared his throat, nodding. He sat at the couch, watching you carefully. He allowed his eyes to deviate to your backside once you stepped onto the small stage. He looked up at you, biting his lower lip as the music began to play.

She’s my cherry pie

Cool drink of water such a sweet surprise

Tastes so good makes a grown man cry

Sweet Cherry pie

Every step you took went with the beat of the song and suddenly, you gained the confidence you never knew you had. You slowly rolled her hips, walking towards the pole. You looked over your shoulder at him, flashing a small smile.

When you wrapped a leg around the pole and tilted your head back, Jeffrey immediately felt all blood rush south. He was trying to be a gentleman and just enjoy the show, but he had a feeling this was solely meant for him.

Swingin’ on the front porch

Swingin’ on the lawn

Swingin’ where we want

‘Cause there ain’t nobody home

You began dancing against the pole, grasping it tightly as you lifted yourself from the floor. Your legs wrapped around it, your eyes solely focused on Jeffrey. When you slowly lowered yourself to the ground, you allowed yourself to display your flexibility by going into a split.

“Oh fuck, you’re flexible. Wow. Okay,” he mumbled.

You giggled. You stood from the floor and walked towards him, your hips swaying to the beat.

Slowly, you straddled his lap and gasped instantly at the feel of his bulge pressing against your almost instantly. In response, you applied pressure by sitting further onto his lap and slowly rolling your hips according to the song.

You placed your hands at the back of the couch, rolling your hips to create friction. You whimpered at the feel of him brushing against you and you pulled back to bring a hand to the clasp of your bra.

Jeffrey didn’t know how long he could last without flipping your positions and taking control. This was your time, though, and he was going to give it to you.

When the bra loosened around your frame, Jeffrey waited for you to pull it from her body. He groaned when he realized you were teasing him.

“I’m going to rip it from you,” he growled.

You grinned, “Do it and you buy me a new one.”

Jeffrey arched a brow, tugging it from your body and tossing it aside.

“We’ll get one for every color,” he added.

You surprisingly didn’t feel self-conscious about your breasts. He stared at you with such admiration that it was hard to believe they met just yesterday.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

You grabbed his hands, placing them at your hips as you continued to move against him.

She’s my cherry pie

Cool drink of water

Such a sweet surprise

Tastes so good

Make a grown man cry

“I can’t take it. Can I touch you?” Jeffrey asked.

You arched a brow before standing from his lap. You turned your back to him, tucking your thumbs into the waistband of your panties. You looked over your shoulder and noticed that his eyes were focused solely on your backside, only occasionally looking up at you.

Slowly, you lowered your panties until it hit the floor.

You heard him grown, following the shuffling of his belt hitting the ground.

You turned around to look at him, his shirt undone and his pants around his ankles.

“What are you doing?” You asked, biting your lower lip at the evident tent.

“Making it easier for you to feel me,” he grinned.

Jeffrey tugged on your hand, pulling you back onto his lap. You gasped. The thin fabric of his boxers did nothing but make you want him more. You were sure that he could feel your heat radiating through him.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked over the music.

You smiled, leaning in to press your lips against his.

You thought you would never meet someone who was excellent at kissing, until him. His beard gently scratched you, but the way his lips moved against yours with such care made you whimper.

He was taking his time despite the raging erection he was experiencing. You knew. You knew if you had him, you weren’t going to get enough.

You were going to want more.

Slowly, you felt him lift you only slightly and you pulled away to look down at where his hand was. He was removing himself from his boxers. When you finally got a good look at his manhood, you gasped.

No one you slept with had ever gotten close to being as big as him.

“What did you say about me being old?” Jeffrey smirked, running the tip over the length of your sex.

“If men your age are like this, I’m looking in the wrong places,” you teased.

Jeffrey narrowed his eyes, pushing his tip into your soaking, tight heat. You groaned, gripping his shoulders.

“I’m going to leave you so sore,” he promised.

You grinned, leaning in to nip at his lower lip before you pulled away.

“Give me your best shot.”

She’s my cherry pie

Cool drink of water

Such a sweet surprise

Tastes so good

Make a grown man cry

Sweet cherry pie oh yeah

She’s my cherry pie

Suddenly, Jeffrey slammed up into you, causing your nails to dig into his shoulders. If it weren’t for his shirt, you were sure that you would have drawn blood at the tight grip.

“Fuck,” Jeffrey whispered, slowly lowering you further down onto his member. When you felt the rest of him enter your depths, you had to remain still. It was going to take a while to adjust.

Your arms move to wrap around his shoulders instead, your legs spread open for him to move. You let your feet rest at either side of him on the couch, glancing down to watch as he began to move his hips.

“Oh my god, Jeffrey…” you moaned, throwing your head back. He felt so good inside of you.

Jeffrey’s grunts were quieted over the loud music, but you heard it. His deep, gravelly growl made you slam yourself down onto him, causing him to grunt. He was in deep and you couldn’t believe it.

It felt so good.

He picked you up, setting you onto your back as his hips began moving at a fast pace. You could feel the couch hit the wall with each hard thrust he took. He wasn’t showing any mercy and you were thankful. You always wanted a dominant man in bed.

His hand moved to cover your breasts, fondling them as his hips moved effortlessly against you. You were soaking wet and it allowed him to move easier within your tight walls.

He was hooked. The minute he laid eyes on you, Jeffrey knew that you were going to be his.

“Jeffrey…” You moaned.

He grinned down at you, leaning down to place his lips against the crook of your neck. He knew you loved his facial hair. Since talking to you last night, he would watch your eyes deviate to the facial hair he had and from the loud moan that escaped your lips just now, he was right.

“Oh my god!” You moaned, your legs wrapping around his waist to bring him closer than before.

His hips move on its own, watching as your face contort into pleasure. Your eyes had fallen shut and your mouth was left agape with the sounds of moans escaping your lips continuously.

“Fuck, baby…” He mumbled, moving his hands to your hips and gripping it tightly.

Jeffrey could tell you were close.

He began pistoning his hips into you without any sign of stopping. He was sure you were going to feel sore tomorrow morning.

The heels of your feet dig at his lower back, urging him to remain still once your walls contracted tightly around his member.

Jeffrey groaned, moving his hips slowly as he felt your body shake beneath him.

After a few moments, Jeffrey moved his hips once more. He needed to find release.

He looked down at you, watching as your eyes opened to look into his own. Jeffrey smiled, reaching down to cup your cheek as his hips move slowly against you to revel in your tight walls milking him to his own climax.

After a couple of thrusts, Jeffrey pulled out quickly. He grasped his member and stroked it quickly as he watched his release splatter onto your abdomen. He smiled tiredly, looking down at you as he reached for a nearby napkin to clean his seed off of your skin.

After last night, Jeffrey wanted to see you again.

After what just happened right now, Jeffrey made sure that this was going to occur again.

“You’re never doing this to another man again,” he grunted, lying next to you.

“I think I’m going to quit,” you said.

Jeffrey smiled, “Good.”

#jeffrey dean morgan #jdm fanfiction #jdm x reader #prompts #oneshot #one shot #solace #joe merriweather #reader-insert

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deniscollins · 7 years

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At CNN, Retracted Story Leaves an Elite Reporting Team Bruised

If you were a CNN executive who put together a team of top journalists to report on political issues, what would you do if one of their stories about President Trump’s connection with Russia was inaccurate and being claimed as an example of “Fake News”: (1) retract the story, offer an apology, and continue to support their reporting on Russia, (2) not allow them to write stories about Russia, (3) fire them? Why? What are the ethics underlying your decision?

Late on a Monday afternoon in June, members of CNN’s elite investigations team were summoned to a fourth-floor room in the network’s glassy headquarters in Midtown Manhattan.

A top CNN executive, Terence Burke, had startling news: three of their colleagues, including the team’s executive editor, were leaving the network in the wake of a retracted article about Russia and a close ally of President Trump. Effective immediately, Mr. Burke said, the team would stop publishing stories while managers reviewed what had gone wrong.

It was a chilling moment for a unit that boasted Pulitzer Prize winners and superstar internet sleuths, and had been introduced at the beginning of the year as the vanguard of CNN’s original, high-impact reporting. Its mission statement — “Seek truth. Break news. Hold the powerful accountable.” — invoked the sort of exhaustive reporting that has become an increasingly coveted skill for news organizations in the Trump era.

But within months of its introduction, the unit, CNN Investigates, had been rocked by damaging reporting errors — including another flawed storyabout Mr. Trump and Russia earlier in June — and its mistakes had disturbed network executives who were already embroiled in a public feud with the White House.

The retracted story and ignominious exits of three prominent journalists was an embarrassing episode for CNN, particularly at a time when there was widespread mistrust in the media and Mr. Trump was regularly attacking the press. Two months later it remains an illuminating chapter in the network’s effort to carry out the meticulous, time-consuming work of investigative journalism within the fast-paced, ratings-driven world of 24-hour cable news.

Questions linger about the way CNN handled the publication of the story and the retraction. The network’s swift and severe response drew coverage throughout the media world, and prompted some journalists to questionwhether CNN had bowed to political pressure and overreacted on a story it has never explicitly said was wrong. Instead, the network maintains there had been unacceptable breakdowns in the newsroom’s internal review process.

In interviews with The New York Times, more than half a dozen CNN staff members, including three with direct knowledge of the investigative unit’s operations, provided previously unreported details about the publication of the story and the fallout from its retraction. Citing fear of retribution, the people requested anonymity to discuss sensitive internal information.

In the weeks since the story was retracted, the investigative team has been reshaped and redirected. Its members were told they should not report on perhaps the most compelling political story of the year: potential ties between the Trump administration and Russia. That subject is now largely handled by CNN’s reporting team in Washington. The political whizzes of KFile, a group of Internet-savvy reporters poached from BuzzFeed that was untainted by the retraction, were transferred out of the investigative team.

The remaining team members have resumed publishing, but with a narrower reporting scope; they now focus on topics less glamorous than Mr. Trump’s potential ties to Russia, like the opioid crisis and the environment.

Created to enhance CNN’s brand, the group had instead left it bruised, and the mistakes intensified the onslaught of attacks against CNN from Mr. Trump. Looming over the newsroom was a pending $85 billion takeover of CNN’s parent company, Time Warner, by AT&T, a deal requiring Justice Department approval that some White House aides considered a potential form of leverage against the network and its president, Jeffrey A. Zucker.

CNN said its commitment to aggressive reporting remains undiminished, and other anchors and correspondents have continued to break stories about the Trump administration and Russia. Late last month the network revealed an email from a Trump campaign aide discussing a potential meeting with the Russian president, Vladimir V. Putin, during last year’s presidential race.

“For 37 years, CNN has done award winning investigative work that has led to fundamental changes at some of the country’s most important institutions,” CNN said in a statement. “This year, CNN has gone even further, devoting additional time, talent and resources to an expanded investigative team. While there have been lessons learned along the way, one thing has remained constant — our unwavering commitment to this type of work at a time when it has never been more important.”

Journalistic Glitterati

In a memo introducing the new unit in January, Andrew Morse, an executive vice president at CNN, trumpeted an expansion that he said would “supercharge” the network’s commitment to investigative journalism.

The memo envisioned a robust team of more than 25 reporters and producers that would include new hires and star correspondents gathered from other parts of the network, including Sara Ganim, a Pulitzer Prize winner for her coverage of the Penn State sexual abuse scandal.

Mr. Zucker courted A-list journalists to join the team; in April, CNN scored a coup, hiring Eric Lichtblau, a Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter from The New York Times.

Members of the unit initially expected to have plenty of time to report on a wide variety of stories. But, increasingly, CNN journalists said, the team was pulled into day-to-day political developments in Washington, especially the Trump campaign’s potential connections to Russia; at times, it resembled more of a rapid-response team. At the same time, the pressure to produce scoops increased.

It was in that heated environment that the first major public lapse involving the team occurred.

In early June, CNN published a bulletin saying that James B. Comey, the former F.B.I. director, would contradict Mr. Trump in testimony before Congress, disputing the president’s assertion that Mr. Comey had informed him three times that he was not under investigation.

The article ran under the bylines of Mr. Lichtblau; the anchors Jake Tapper and Gloria Borger; and a producer, Brian Rokus. Ms. Borger relayed the news to viewers on-air.

But the network soon began hearing from sources who said the information in the article was wrong. CNN was forced to issue a correction.

In the newsroom, some colleagues of Mr. Lichtblau, who had only recently joined the network, blamed him for the mistake; others defended him. It was a sign of the tension that already existed between CNN’s Washington bureau and the upstart investigative unit, which were jousting over the various reporting lines of the Trump-Russia story, two people said. The botched Comey story only exacerbated it.

The mistake also drew the ire of Mr. Zucker, who told his journalists that the political climate — with CNN in Mr. Trump’s cross hairs — left no room for error.

It was in this strained environment that, less than three weeks later, the investigative unit found itself at the center of a more consequential blunder.

A Flawed Process

On June 22, a modest, 950-word story appeared on CNN’s website, reporting that a Trump adviser named Anthony Scaramucci — at the time not yet a household name — had ties to a Russian investment fund that had attracted the attention of investigators in the United States Senate.

The story said that the Senate Intelligence Committee was examining the fund and that Mr. Scaramucci had met with the head of the fund, Kirill Dmitriev, several days before Mr. Trump’s inauguration. It also said the Treasury Department had been looking into the meeting at the request of two Democratic senators, who had expressed concern that Mr. Scaramucci might have promised to help get sanctions against Russia waived by the new administration.

The story was written by Thomas Frank, who had been a Pulitzer Prize finalist at USA Today. But Mr. Scaramucci, who was jockeying for a position in the White House, disputed the information when CNN contacted him for comment, according to a person close to Mr. Scaramucci; the story quoted Mr. Scaramucci as saying “there is nothing there,” in reference to his meeting with Mr. Dmitriev.

Mr. Lichtblau was editing the article and, according to the people with direct knowledge of the events, he sent a draft of the story to Lex Haris, the head of the investigative unit. Mr. Haris, who was traveling to Phoenix for a conference, signed off — as long as the story passed muster with CNN’s internal review system, known as the Triad.

The Triad includes CNN’s fact-checkers and its standards team, both of which approved the article. But the third prong, the legal department, had at least one question that went unanswered.

It is not clear what specific concerns the legal department raised, or why Mr. Lichtblau and Mr. Haris did not address them; journalists at CNN said it was sometimes difficult to keep track of the flurry of inquiries that could come during the review process. (Mr. Frank, Mr. Haris and Mr. Lichtblau declined to comment for this story.)

Mr. Lichtblau moved forward with publication. He emailed an editor affiliated with KFile, Kyle Blaine, who had not been involved in the story, and instructed him to publish it on his behalf.

When the story was posted that afternoon, it received little attention — inside the newsroom and out. But Mr. Scaramucci and his representatives quickly contacted CNN officials, including the network’s Washington bureau chief, Sam Feist, to complain. It was an “all hands on deck’’ rebuttal, said the person familiar with Mr. Scaramucci’s response.

Breitbart News, a frequent critic of CNN, soon posted an item that questioned CNN’s reporting, and called the network’s story “very fake news.’’ Citing its own source, Breitbart said there was no Senate investigation.

When CNN managers began to review the piece, they discovered the legal department’s concerns — and that they had not been addressed. They also realized a factual error had slipped through the fact-checking process; it was a technicality related to a Russian bank’s relationship to the fund, but managers found it to have been a troubling lapse.

And there was a more problematic issue, two people familiar with the review said.

Mr. Frank’s single source had wavered before the story was published, expressing concern about how the information was being presented. But Mr. Frank had not relayed that hesitancy to his colleagues.

Between Mr. Frank’s wavering source and the discovery of breakdowns in the editorial vetting process, executives concluded that the network could not stand behind the story. The day after the article was published, CNN removed it from its website and issued a formal retraction and an apology to Mr. Scaramucci.

“That story did not meet CNN’s editorial standards,” the network wrote.

It is still unclear to what degree the story was inaccurate. CNN has never said that the article’s reporting was incorrect, and Mr. Zucker made clear on a morning conference call, soon after the retraction, that the network would not go back and report the story again.

Some journalists inside and outside the network said privately that they believed the story was materially true. But the story also suffered from a lack of clarity. A reader could easily come away with the impression that Mr. Scaramucci himself was under investigation for some kind of illicit dealings with the Russians — an assertion that the article does not explicitly make.

Significant Consequences

The fallout came quickly. The day after the retraction, Rich Barbieri, the editor of CNN’s business and finance site, sent his team an email barring the publication of “any content involving Russia” without editorial approval — “no exceptions.”

As Breitbart News and other CNN critics gloated over the retraction, Mr. Zucker decided that stern action was necessary to demonstrate to its employees — and to the outside world — that the network would not tolerate such mistakes. The network asked Mr. Lichtblau, Mr. Haris and Mr. Frank to resign.

The episode shocked many inside CNN and created anxiety in the newsroom. Some staff members said they thought the punishment had been overly harsh, a view expressed by some media commentators as well.

Though corrections are not uncommon for news organizations, full retractions are more unusual and typically signify major factual errors or ethical breaches. When news organizations do retract a story, they normally also make an effort to correct the record, and explain to the reader what went wrong. But the brief editor’s note from CNN, some journalism experts said, provided more questions than answers.

“CNN failed in its duty to enlighten the public,” said Edward Wasserman, the dean of the Graduate School of Journalism at the University of California, Berkeley. “Instead, it muddied the waters to correct something and we don’t know what it’s correcting.”

Mr. Trump quickly seized on the resignations. He posted on Twitter the next morning, “Wow, CNN had to retract big story on ‘Russia,’ with 3 employees forced to resign. What about all the other phony stories they do? FAKE NEWS!’’

At CNN, executives took some time to regroup. Mr. Zucker vowed that the network would not be cowed by the Trump administration. After a reassessment period, CNN asked the investigative unit to resume its work. Its ranks have been replenished: new journalists have been brought on from other parts of CNN, and there is a new team leader in place, Matt Lait, a veteran former editor at The Los Angeles Times.

On Aug. 2, weeks after he informed the investigative team of the resignations, Mr. Burke, the CNN executive, convened another meeting — this time to outline the unit’s refocused mission. The team would engage in longer-term reporting on national issues, with less focus on the White House. He affirmed that the unit should leave the Russia investigation story to CNN’s staff in Washington.

Mr. Scaramucci, meanwhile, had been named Mr. Trump’s communications director. His successful tangling with CNN was said to have greatly pleased the president. Before Mr. Scaramucci was himself forced out of the White House, he was overheard on a live television microphone referring to the retracted story and Mr. Zucker.

“He helped me get the job by hitting those guys,” Mr. Scaramucci said, referring to the resignations. He added, “Tell him he’s not getting a placement fee for getting me the job.”

#CNN #Journalism

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