As aforementioned, my posting schedule isn’t very glorious, but here are the next chapters in Rupee’s requested fanfiction. Enjoy 🙂 (And once again, don’t judge me. I tried. It was weird.)

Mel

~~~~~

FOUR

 

FIFA reruns are playing on the television and you hear the crowd groan as the Netherlands make the winning goal against Mexico. Niall sits sprawled out on his bed which is unkempt from the few hours of sleep he had been able to get.

After dropping you off Paul had quickly mumbled something about working with the Boston Police Department and needing to be present at a meeting, leaving you alone with Niall and an immensely uncomfortable silence.

Every once in a while a voice emerges outside of the door, a member of security maybe or an agitated guest shocked at the sudden surprise of fifteen intimidating gentlemen lining their hallway. Then the silence comes back and only the voices on the television—reviews of plays made in the most recent soccer games—can be heard.

You sigh, positioning yourself by the wall near the door. At least here you are somewhat shielded from the blonde boys’ eyesight. Not that it’s important, you remind yourself, but you are here to observe and protect, not to…

To what? Could you have spewed a more cliché line? “Observe and protect.” Even your own thoughts are annoying you now.

“You don’t have to just stand there,” he says. You turn your head to peak around the corner. He is still lying flat on his bed, but his head is angled so that he can see you over the mound of pillows beside him.

“It’s my job to stand here,” you respond and he shrugs into his sheets, eyes retreating to the television screen. He must only be half-watching because his gaze every so often wanders to you; like he can’t quite make you out.

After about fifteen minutes of this you sigh loudly, turning so that you are facing him, arms crossed over your chest. “Why did you ask for me to be your guard?”

Niall slowly moves into a seated position, his body stretching forward so that his feet are pressed against the floor, elbows leaning against his knees. “I don’t know.”

Your eyes narrow and you take another step forward. “Then why couldn’t anyone else have babysat you?”

Jaw muscles twitch beneath his skin and he presses the backs of his thumbs to his mouth, sighing. “I didn’t want anyone else.” You are about to ask again what his motive was for requesting you, but he interrupts you. “You’re interesting.”

“I’m…interesting…” The words are absurd. You’ve been working with One Direction for almost two months now, but your interactions with the boys have been extremely limited. He had barely seen you let alone had time to think you were interesting. “What?”

His mouth curls up into a half smile. “You’re always so serious.”

You try to keep from laughing out loud. “I’m a bodyguard. It’s kind of the job.”

“Hm.”

That’s it, that’s all he says, and you can feel your fingers itching to ball into a fist. Maybe it is the lack of sleep or the fact that you have little-to-no patience on a good day, but you find yourself growing more and more irritated at Niall’s lack of explanation.

“What’s your favorite color?” he says suddenly.

You scoff. “You must be joking.”

“I have to get to know you somehow, right?” He bites down on his lower lip, probably to suppress the smile you can see rising to the surface of his face. “We’ll start with an easy question.”

This isn’t going to end quickly; you’re not sure how you know, you just do, and you lean your head back against the wall, sighing. “What’s yours?”

“Green. Now you.”

“Black.”

His eyebrows narrow, pulling together. “Black is not a color.”

“Sure it is.”

He crosses his arms. “No it’s not.”

You let out a breath in exasperation. If he isn’t going to take your answer seriously then why ask?

“Fine, fine, fine. What’s your favorite movie?”

Your fingers tap against your dark jeans, drilling a bruise into your thigh. “I don’t really have one. I like action comedies.”

“Like Titanic?”

You blink, momentarily silenced. “You’re not serious, right?”

He chuckles; it’s a throaty sound and you can’t help but find it rather pleasant, though you would never admit it to him or anyone else. You feel the concerned expression begin to coat your face. “Is that your favorite movie—Titanic?”

“No, I’m not much into the whole ‘everyone dies at the end’ kind of ending.”

“So that’s what turns you off by that movie? Not the fact that a disaster was turned into a fantasized romance plot?”

“Yes, but Kate Winslet is in that movie, and she’s—” He pauses and you lift an eyebrow. “Fit,” he says quickly.

You have no idea what that means and an obvious frown etches itself into your face. “Leonardo’s not so bad either, but it’s not going to make me change my mind.”

Suddenly he’s on his feet and across the room, standing so close to you that it forces you to look up and meet his eyes. The movement startles you and you find yourself struggling to wrap your mind around what is happening.

A sudden noise—a muffled voice—calls out in the hallway causing you to jump, and you take a step forward in surprise, bumping into Niall’s strong shoulders. His hands come up, fingers gripping your arms in support, and you feel the heat of his body sink through the fabric of your thin jacket.

“Careful,” he murmurs. His voice is deeper than before, thick, and feelings of dread and anticipation tie knots in your stomach.

Oh no. No, no, no. This is not happening.

 

 

FIVE

 

“What did you become a bodyguard for?” Niall’s voice tears you from your thoughts and you flinch.

“I, uh…,” you mumble.

Niall doesn’t move back to give you space—he doesn’t move at all—and judging from the way his shoulders are slumped forward toward you, like a wall between you and the rest of the room, it doesn’t look like he intends to. “So, why did you do it?”

You bite down on your lip and something in his face changes, his eyes dropping down to your mouth, watching your every movement. The blonde in his hair is highlighted by the lights in the ceiling, and it makes his face look softer.

“I’ll tell you if you back up.” The words are hard to get out and you’re not quite sure why.

“Why?”

“Because this is immensely inappropriate.”

“No.” He smiles. “This is immensely inappropriate.”

His head dips down just far enough so that his lips brush up against yours. They’re soft, softer than you would have thought, and your heart nearly stops in your chest.

“No,” you mumble against his lips as they shape around yours, soft kisses pulling you in to even deeper ones. You lift your hands to his shoulders, pushing against him to make him step back but he doesn’t.

Niall’s movements are slow, deliberate, and you back up until you feel the rough wallpaper press up against you.

“Niall, you’re tired. Neither one of us got much sleep last night, and you—you really shouldn’t—”

He lifts a hand up, the tips of his fingers trailing over the edge of your hair, brushing softly against the shell of your ear. Finally his palm comes to rest against your cheek as he lowers his head to close the space between you.

That look—the one from the other night in the recording studio—is back; his eyes dark, watching you with such intensity that it is making it difficult for your breath to escape your lungs. “Do you trust me?” he breathes, and you can feel the heat from his body brush up against you; warm breath ghosting over the bridge of your nose.

Honestly, you don’t know. You’re his bodyguard, this is explicitly against your contract, and you hardly know him. Not that you wouldn’t like to get to know him.

He must take your silence as some form of confirmation, because the edges of his lips curl up into a partial smile, the vivid blue of his eyes such a dazzling contrast to your dark ones.

He kisses you again and this one is slow, gentle, as if he’s not quite sure of himself or you, but it quickly turns into something more urgent. His tongue brushes against your lower lip, a request, and you allow him to take full control of the kiss as his tongue rolls over yours.

The fingers of one hand lock onto the fabric of his gray t-shirt as you tug yourself forward, your other hand burying itself in his thick, blonde hair. The breath is knocked almost completely from your lungs as the weight of his body forces you up against the wall until there is no longer room for you to move around him.

Your thoughts become muddled—the dangerous repercussions of your actions and the delicate warmth of his skin twist together—but you know you made your choice the moment you stopped trying to push him away, and you’re too distracted right now to think about whether it was the right one.

Niall’s mouth continues to press up against yours, parting only to trail soft kisses down the outline of your jaw before dipping even lower as he brushes his feather-light lips along the soft skin of your neck.

His grip on your waist is tight, bruising, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away if he does not hold you tight enough, and for a moment you think maybe you will, but it’s not like you have any room to move anyway.

“Niall—Niall stop,” you say when you’re finally able to pull away, breathing hard.

Thankfully, the flood of kisses relents, but he does not move. His chest, rising and falling rapidly, is pressed tightly up against yours as he buries his face in your hair.

“This can’t happen ever again,” you say slowly, pressing your lips tightly together. They still taste like him, sweet. There’s a tray with an empty tea cup sitting near the door. He probably put honey in it.

“Mmm.” You can feel him nodding into your shoulder, and this time when you push against him he actually moves back. The circles under his eyes have grown deeper, you notice, averting your gaze from his, and a feeling of guilt starts to creep into your chest.

You edge sideways toward the door and out of the confines of his arms, stopping only when there is at least three feet between you and enough spare oxygen that you can finally think clearly. You feel a blush begin to creep up your neck and it quickly claims the space on top of your cheekbones.

“Why—?” There’s a way to finish that question, to fill it in with one of the hounding thoughts flying through your head, but you can’t seem to come up with the words to do it.
He shrugs, also refusing to meet your eyes, and though he won’t turn and look at you, you see his cheeks are a vivid pink. “I don’t know…I just…” His thought fades out in a mumble and for the first time it occurs to you that he may be just as surprised as you are.

Tense silence fills the space between you, broken only by the roar of cheers coming from the television and a sudden heart-stopping screech as the fire alarm begins to wail.