And here’s a new one for you, too:
“George.” Jaymi’s voice is carefully controlled casual. “Your – Harry Styles is here.”
George jerks on the bed, sitting up in his sock-feet and too-big t-shirt, and pushes his hands through his hair desperately. What is Harry doing there? Now? His Heat’s over and George doesn’t – they’re Bonded, and he wants to please Harry, wants it down to his marrows, but he doesn’t. He’s just sat down and it’s his only break of the weekend and he doesn’t, he just doesn’t want to… please Harry right now.
All the same, the electricity of a new Bond sings through his bones and teeth and blood like fireworks, all of his cells chanting harry!harry!harry! even though George wishes they’d just shut up. But his feet are pulling him towards the door and there’s Harry, tall and broad and curled in on himself like he isn’t an Alpha, like he can’t take all the space he wants.
“Hi,” George says back.
Jaymi nudges his shoulder, and George shuffles aside to let Jaymi through the door as he pulls on his shoes. “I’ll see you kids later. George?” He touches George’s elbow. “Ring me if you need me, okay?”
George nods, giving Jaymi a grateful little smile. Harry frowns.
Once Jaymi’s gone, George leaves the door open, still standing in the jamb. “So… what’d’you want?”
“You left,” Harry says, like that explains everything. His toes are pointed together in his skinny canvas shoes. “Last night, after we – well, basically, you left. Why did you leave?”
“Because I had rehearsals this morning,” George says. “I wanted to sleep. And I wanted to nap now, too, if you don’t mind.”
Harry’s arm is so close that George can feel the heat radiating from his sun-gold skin, and every spidersilk-tiny hair on George’s own arm is stretching toward the warmth of Harry, reaching out to touch. George can see the gooseflesh on his skin and a flash of brilliant annoyance strikes through him. He shakes out his shoulders and rubs his arm and scowls.
“I don’t mind,” Harry says, eyes wide. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” His voice turns soft and tentative. “Missed you.”
“You don’t know me.” But Harry’s through the door, and George is shutting it behind him. “You didn’t miss me, you missed your omega.”
“But you’re both,” Harry points out. “You’re you, and you’re my omega.”