With the final appeal, the desperate plea for freedom--the shouting that the conviction was unjust and erroneous--the strong iron bars are disintegrated. The conviction reversed and dismissed, I've run into His arms. The final appeal--honesty.

My mind was a cell--bars made of strong dark steel, walls made of mirrors, I was forced to reflect on every aspect of myself until all I saw was mutilated versions of myself, I was forced stare my mistakes in the eye for hours on end, I lived what I believed to be a life sentence of reflection. I was found guilty of crimes I never committed.

I was a prisoner to my mind, my three cellmates--my mother, my father, and him--taunted me until I was forced into a ball of uncontrollable sobs on the cold hard floor, forced to stare at my nakedness, forced to stare at the unhealed trauma that's left scars, forced to see each time I failed, failed to see the neon signs pointing to my derailment.

My mother--sentenced to live in my mind as a constant reminder of the line I so often toe, the line of inhumanity. My father--convicted and sent to startle the monsters in my mind, surround me in my biggest fears. Him--life sentence, a permanent member of my psyche, the eyes that haunted me in the night, the ghost of his mercilessness slapped me around, told me each flaw that I'd tried so hard to ignore, dragged me back to the floor when I found the strength to stand.

The chains of his ghost. The scalding of his shackles. The weight of the padlocks he left for me to try to unlock. I asked the same questions over and over again. Will I ever find the key? Will I ever escape the arms that keep me standing in front of the mirrors?

I finally found the key. I escaped the arms that kept me standing in front of these mirrors, I escaped the frigid hold of him and ran straight into His arms. I've enveloped myself in Sunshine so bright and blazing that I won't ever live another cold day.

His mind was a dungen just as dark as mine--pitch black with the exception of a single drop of Sunshine that flooded in from the window. The darkened cell was littered with alcohol incuded nightmarish creatures, disfigurements of His past. The ground flooded in shards of glass that created a journey that would surely tear the skin off the soles of His feet and dig into the depths of His conscience until He was left raw and broken.

To protect Himself he forged a coat of armour, His chest ironclad to conceal a fragile beating heart, one that is meant to love but was hardened by the guilt built inside of His brain, arteries that were blocked by an insatiable appetite for escape.

Two broken hearts don't mend into a strong heart. Two broken people don't mend into a strong person. Two wrongs don't make a right. But maybe just this once, He was the right remedy for my broken heart, my broken soul, and maybe I might have been His.

Without the barrier between our souls, we can finally engulf ourselves in the lust that has been forced to build up in the pits of our guts without a complete means of shimmering and explosive depletion.

This temptation has been growing strong all week. Each passing day it discovers a new sense. First was ogling, the mere gaze of Him--the ripple of each muscle and divot of His dimple--left me limbs as gelatine and my stomach tossing. Then it was auricular, the slow drawl of His voice and the rasp of His accent--the pop of each syllable and salaciousness of each sentiment--gave me gooseflesh and a quivering breath. Next was aromatic, the scent that surrounded Him--vanilla and caffeine, novels and ink--left each word stuck on the tip of my tongue and a racing heart. Taste came next, each sip of Him--chocolate chips and the taste of His toothpaste--forced trembling fingers to be clenched into fists and fidgeting feet. Touch was the finality, the coup de grace--the faintness of a stroke on my arm or the unrestrainedness of a tongue and swollen pair of my legs--the meger recallment of any touch left me biting back moans that desired to jump from my throat and the tightening of my legs.

Nothing is enough, I've been left wanting more. What was once questerd by hands and mouths now leaves a longing for what could be. What I now desperately crave.

This unruly, vexed desire has only been strengthened by the conspicuous titulations that have been spilling over from Harry's lips. Each moment of what would otherwise be silent is now filled to the brim with a vulgarness that has left my cheeks embarrassingly rogued and my centre throbbing.

We sit now at Tiff's, a mango milkshake unsatisfyingly leaving a ring of condensation on the linoleum counter. My appetite is severely suppressed by the sourness of resque remarks that tie my stomach into knots.

We sit now at Tiff's, an untouch plate of chocolate chip pancakes and a mountain of fries that smirk suggestively at us. Our appetites are severely suppressed by the distraction of something more desirable.

We sit now at Tiff's, hands wandering beneath the ledge and out of loose-lipped waitress' views. Lips pressing onto cheeks and teeth sinking into the sink of necks. Our appetites strong and unsavory for sex.

I slip a twenty onto the counter and drag Him away from the counter before He can protest. "See ya later, girls. Bye, John." I yell out as the door hits the bell and we're sneaking out into the dark.

Pressed against bricks as rain settles on our skin, how does it always do that? There seems to be a rain cloud constantly overhead our sunniest moments, it's as if our showering of love is mirrored by mother nature's ever unpredictable pathos.

Will our love be a constant downpour or spackling of sprinkles that lifts after its short lived spurt?

Steps taken are few and far between, each step closer to our unfounded destination is halted by the passionate pressing of lips and caresses of skin that we cannot help but indulge in.

After our clothes are thoroughly drenched with rain and our hearts thoroughly drenched with devilish desire, we step inside of Dorthea's.

Small table lamps lit with waterlogged fingerprints and floors doused in puddles of lovesick sappiness. Records handpicked like a bouquet of flowers for a finally reunited lover, songs spun by a needle as fine as the line we walked--the line of love and hate. Hips swayed as if to beckon and croon for that luster filled loving, bodies spun as if to blur out the irrelevant to focus on the centerpiece of our little universe. Orbiting our stars.

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

My mind is reeling, the cognizance of my heart still dazing and doting. I can't peel my eyes away from the sight of Him. His features are the centerpiece of my study and His character the object of my heart.

Each of His movements has my heart pounding and my lips tightening to hold back from shouting out, 'I love you. I love you. I love you to pieces. You pierce my soul and I so sincerely admire and love you. 'I do love nothing in the world so well as you—is not that strange?''

I love you. I want you. I need you. I have to have you. I need you. I want you. I love you.

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

Orbiting our star--the single source of light in our otherwise blind billows of space that deafen its passerbyers with its darkness. He is my star and spin--spinning, spinning, spinning. An object in motion will remain in motion until it is acted upon by unbalanced force. My love started small and convenient, an endearing smile there and a common interest here. My love started to grow, the reframing of flaws into their proper perspectives and the turning of my world of barren wandering to a lush meadow for which I shamelessly want to lay in. My love is large and inconvenient, it's all encompassing and distracting, it is my life and blood and without it I feel empty.

Spinning, spinning, spinning, until I'm stopped.

Stopped by two strong arms that wrap around my waist so comfortably as if sculpted just for the dip that rests between my ribs and hips. He looks down at me and mutters words of deliberate desire, purposeful and personal. "I want to show you something."

With a single nod I try to shout every word I've been trying to let out but cannot see to express. I want you. Please have me. I'd love for you to swallow me whole and let me live in your chest so that your heart may be my metronome. Please have me. I want you.

Do with me what you will, I'm practically begging at this point. And yet, I'm not. My wilted brain will not let those damned pleads spill from my lips, protecting me from something so sweet all that would leave me bruised would be a simmering toothache easily mended by the plush lips that left it there to begin with.

He, gently and selfishly, engulfs my fussing hands with His own as He walks backwards towards His place of worship--the instruments. He leaves me to sit on a stool as He fiddles around for something, until finally He stands with a journal--bounded in leather and yellowed pages.

"Now, it's not much. I've only really written one or two full songs, well besides," He alludes to the allusive demo sent out to a label in California, "They're not anything good but-"

I shake my head and hold my hand out with raised brows and widened eyes, "Hand it over, Styles."

He blows a long breath through jutted lips before stepping over to me, "Okay, actually, this one I'm kind of excited about, I think it could be fuckin' cool, it's not finished but-" He lets the leather strips loose to fumble with the pages, skipping through until He finds what He's looking for, "it would start with electric guitar really amped up, drums down low to keep tempo, but the guitar takes center stage here, at least that's what I think. Then a super sick switch up on the guitar to build it up and that's when the lyrics come in. I mean if anyone ever ends up with it they can do whatever they want but I don't know this is what I envision."

"Harry," I interrupt His anxious ramblings, "Sunshine, can I see the lyrics." I emphasize, He's held the opened journal against His chest and hasn't even allowed me a glimpse.

He lowers the book to rest on my lap and nods feverishly, "Right, right. Okay so this is it."

'Here to take my medicine, take my medicine

Treat you like a gentleman

Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline

I think I'm gonna stick with you

Here to take my medicine, take my medicine

Rest it on your fingertips

Up to your mouth, feeling it out

Feeling it out'

His chicken scratch dripping with mouth watering, pulse quickening crudeness. Each word tightening the bulked knot in my belly and parching my throat.

'I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted

And when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you tasted'

I look up from the page, up at Him, staring at Him for a moment before I'm practically tackling Him to the ground. I stand so quickly to my feet and grip His shirt tightly in white knuckled fists. I push Him back until we crash into a shelf.

It's all desperately meshing of lips and massaging of tongues, teeth clinking and nipping at bottom lips. The stifled snickers that erupt from the abrupt transition force us to separate and search the souls of one another through the mossed irises that lead to the sheath of starcover reflected off the seas.

I let out a short breath through hollowed cheeks, "Take me upstairs."

His widening eyes drowning in lascivious pupils stare back at me. Brows rise in shock, the effect on His forehead evidence of intrigue. Lips part in puckered precision, swollen and shining from moonlit passion.

"Harry," I start, His face only contorting into frustratingly lusty astonishment, "Take me upstairs."

His weighted lecherous eyes drowning in lascivious pupils dart from my lips to my eyes. Brows drop in shock, the single notch finds its home between them perfectly. Lips curve in a devilish smirk, canine sinking in to preserve composure.

"You're in for it now," He husks out against the shell of my ear, "Once I have you, I'll never want to stop."

He's careless, flicking off lamps clumsily as we stumble out with lude touches. He's calculated, twisting the lock meticulously to ensure it's closure before we wander up the metal stairs with creaks punctuating each kiss.

When we reach the top of the platform He hoists me up over His shoulder, snickers and scarpse snorts erupt from me in my giddy, elated state. A switch smack hits my behind which sends shocks jolting straight to my core, a breathy gasp slips past my lips.

"Don't be dramatic," He taunts as He continues to unlock the door.

I reach my arm as far as I can to pinch the skin on His lower back, a low groan of distaste forces a stifled laugh from me, which elicits another hit that leaves a hot stinging behind. My lip dips under the pressure of my teeth to hold back the mewl that begs to slide from my throat.

I can't help the desire to aggravate Him further in hopes of having further smacks delivered. So I do what I know will work best--the unexpected.

Kicking Him in the balls, no (would be hilarious though (not in this context though)).

I stretch my shoulder as far as I can once again, this time dishing out what was given to me, bringing my arm back and hitting Him square in the ass.

"You're really just fuckin' asking for it," He growls through a low laugh.

Stepping through the threshold, I believe I'm going to be set down. The door is kicked closed and I can feel Him slipping His shoes from His feet. My face drops in befuddlement when He strides inside and I'm left dangling over His shoulder. I shriek when I'm airbound until I hit the sheets and He's immediately crawling over me and gripping onto the hem of my dress. I kick my platform sandals off to the ground.

My dress is dragged over my head and tossed over His shoulder with a smug grin. He ravages my body with hot, open mouthed kisses between nips and sucks that leave bruises on my skin. I'm squirming underneath Him to get a grip on His shirt to pull it off, "I need this gone," I gasp out.

He lifts one arm to grip the fabric between His shoulder blades in a tight fist before tugging it over His head, it's gone over His shoulder with that same smoldering smirk. He dips down to suck at the glimmer between my breasts before dipping down to nip below my belly button. Teeth skim the hem of my underwear and drag them down my legs as I lift my hips to aid their removal. "Need these gone," He husks back at me.

I'm quick to reach for His belt, unbuckling it shakily before undoing the button and downing the zipper, tugging at the waistband of both His jeans and briefs until they're discarded onto the ground.

"So pretty when you're desperate," He gushes against my skin as He sinks down between my legs.

"Please," I whimper out, "I need you."

A breathed moan glides up His throat as His mouth attatches to my heat and I'm gasping at the vibration of His sounds against it. He sucks my throbbing nerves into His mouth before swirling sloppy circles against it. His tongue glides through the arousal pooling in my centre before He pulls away to stare me dead in the eye, sheen drenched across His lips and chin.

He drops forward to press passion filled pecks to my lips, my hands gliding down His chest and feeling the twitch of His muscles until I reach His hips. One hand grips steadily on the indent of His hip while the other slips to find His leaking tip. I grip His length in my palm and a grunt echos from Him as His head drops and His hair hangs in His face.

"Shit," He moans under His breath.

I start pumping Him slowly at first to collect the precum spilling from His reddened tip and then begin to start a quickened tempo. He matches my fever by tracing His thumb rapidly to my nerves. Our panting breaths pantomime each other's as we're delved into the pleasure.

My arm drags up from His hip to pull Him closer to me as I breathe out, "Please, I want you."

I line His length up in my hold to my entrance before He mutters, "Wait."

I immediately let go as He leans back on His haunches, His hands dragging up His face before running through His hair to grip tightly at His scalp, "I don't have any condoms."

I don't have any condoms. At this point, I do not give a flying fuck. I need Him, I want to feel Him. I want to have all of Him.

I sit up and take His hands to rest on my hips, my voice drowning in serious sincerity, "I still want to, as long as you still do."

His hands lift to my shoulders and He pushes me to fall on my back, "Needy little thing."

He takes Himself in His fist and aligns our centres after dragging His fist down to pump Himself a few times. He slides just the tip in first, slowly inching in as He mutters soft praises of, 'Good girl,' and, 'Taking me so well.'

I grip tightly onto His hips, leaving crescent indents in His skin as I breathe out volumeless notes of pleasure and adjustment. He's careless, the kisses He leaves over my skin are sloppily placed and tactlessly created, His hot breath layering my skin with a sheen. He's calculated, His movements slow and gentle, until He's fully inside and drags slow languid strokes.

"My sweet girl," He groans out, "You feel so good. Perfect, just for me."

Our heavy panting brought about by the sheer tension of what once seemed unattainable and now is so heavily in our grasp.

He takes His time, letting my muscles adjust and conform to Him. He takes His time, leaving slow and futile kisses against my parted lips.

He continues this pace, this enveloping feeling of His eyes burning through mine with an expression I can't quite place, until I can feel the coil tightening and I need relief, "I need more."

His brows raise and a sly smile tugs the corners of His lips up, "Yeah? You need me to give you more?"

"Please," I gasp out.

He halts His pace and lifts Himself from the holding up of Himself on His elbows to rest on His knees between my legs. He brings my arms up over my head by dragging His blunt nails down my skin and gripping my wrists to hold them in one fist to restrain me.

"Be a good girl and keep these here for me," He rasps out sternly. I nod my head against the sheets, but He shakes His head, "No, I need you to tell me you'll keep these here for me."

I gulp back any anxiety I have, "I'll keep these here for you."

"So good for me."

He realigns Himself and pushes into me, His pace immediately more rapid and rough. I yelp out a loud moan that shakes the knot in my stomach to tighten every further to an unbearable level. He's relentless as He fucks into me and I can't control the mewls and moans that shred up my throat.

The knots tied tighter, knots tied together to build a bow so beautifully painful that all I needed was a final stroke to tug the stray ribbon end to send shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my body. My legs--a shaking bowl of cherry gelatine; My hands--clenched into white knuckled fists; My face--contorted with so much pleasured pain; My vision--flashes white before speckles of colored confetti fall all around in a kaleidoscope; My voice--gone except the string of yelping curses strung together with His name.