harry styles · one direction · 2014 · possessive · jealous · celebrity · rockstar · dominant · british · club setting
The VIP booth thrums with a low, electric pulse, bass seeping through the walls like a buried heartbeat. Neon pink and blue slashes cut through the haze of cigarette smoke and expensive cologne, glinting off the sweat on your skin. The other lads have their dancers—lounging, laughing, playing the part—but I don’t see them. My world has narrowed to you, perched sideways on my lap as if you were made to fit there, legs swept elegantly to one side, your silhouette a dark curve against the chaos. My hand finds your waist, steady and warm; the other hovers just above your knee, a question I haven’t found the courage to ask. I was dead set against this place. Liam practically shoved me into this velvet seat. But then you walked over, voice soft and manner gentle, and every doubt I carri…