Harry was hastily shoving enough clothes for a week into his fair-sized brown Alfred Dunhill. He didn't even bother to fold his clothes properly, he just figured he'd get them steamed when he got there. But he had to leave...now. Get out and go. Before his mom found out that he knew. He didn't feel safe, but he didn't feel threatened either. He knew that his mom loved him. Harry'd never been a fan of the political world. He was always grateful for the lifestyle it afforded him and his family, but he swore he'd never get into politics. The fact that his mother was one of the most powerful women in the UK only made his insider's view of the elite more jaded. He'd seen lies, deception, so many laws broken. All for the greater good aparently, but he didn't believe it. It was to get ahead, like everything was. But he just couldn't stand it. There was no one he trusted in the world, not even his own mom. Not when he'd seen her do some of the things she had in her career.

Of course Harry loved his mom to no end, and she was a fantastic mother. Always made sure to spend time with him and Gemma, even though so was busy protecting multiple countries. She was at all of his band's gigs, she made sure they had family dinner at least twice a week, and she never forgot a birthday. But Harry was tired of this life, tired of this place. He needed to get out. He had no idea where he was going, but he'd know when he got there. He didn't even have time to order the private jet around, so he'd have to take whatever commercial flight was leaving right this minute. He finished packing all of his skinny jeans, clothing that his mom detested, and zipped up the bag.

"Harry, dear? Are you awake?" The voice came over the intercom. Harry froze and stared at his door. His mom wasn't supposed to be back for a another day or two. She could be anywhere in the large house. How was Harry going to sneak out now? Not that he had time to consider it because Anne knocked two gentle taps on Harry's bedroom door before entering. "Harry," Anne said warmly, "There you are." She looked at the suitcase, "Where are we going?" She looked fresh, although Harry was sure she had to of just landed back. Her hair was pulled up into a tight bun, and she'd taken her shoes off, but had yet to change into a robe or house clothing.

Harry looked down at the suitcase too, then back up to the concerned face of his mother. "I'm taking a holiday."

"Now? But you just got off holiday a few weeks ago, you'll need to start preparing for the new year at University, Harry."

Harry should his head, "No I need to go. I have to get-I'm leaving for a while."

Anne came further into the room and placed a perfectly manicure hand on Harry's shoulder. He flinched, just slightly, but Anne caught it all the same. She frowned, surprising considering her recent Botox, and turned Harry to her. "What's the matter, love?"

Harry couldn't look her in the eye. "I just need a break, alright? You know I've never faired well in the city, in the middle of it all. I don't want to start uni again on a bad note, and if I stay here until it starts then I'll just be fowl when I get there."

Anne seemed to consider Harry's thinly veiled lies. "How long do you plan to be gone?"

"I don't know. A week, maybe?"

"Where are you going?"

Harry gave a small laugh, "Also don't know."

"Well, that doesn't sound very planned out, now does it, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, but knew Anne was only teasing. If Harry said he really needed to get away then she would let him. She trusted him, if only he was able to return the senitment. "I'll stay close. Amsterdam, Paris, I don't know. But I'll stay in the area."

Anne accepted it and ran her hand over Harry's tall curls. "Alright, dear. Go. But I'd like you back a couple of days before so we can pack and get you properly prepared to leave me for another year." Anne was frowning again. Didn't she know that's how you get those lines? Harry just grabbed his bag, gave his mom a kiss on the forehead, and walked down the stairs. The tile of the foyer was slick against his boots, but he nearly ran anyway. He swung open the oversized front door and clicked it shut behind him. The day was just beginning, the sun just teasing the horizon, and most houses were dark. His was the only one on his block that was lit up with the start of a day. One of his family's cars sat idle in the circular drive, waiting for him. He'd gone and called his driver after hours of laying awake in bed. The car was brought around while he was frantically throwing his belongings in to a bag.

"Good Morning, Mr. Styles," he said and reached for Harry's bag.

Harry told him he'd hold on to it and smiled warmly to the man in a sleek black suit. "Harry. I've told you, Harry is fine."

"Of course, Mr. Styles," the driver replied with a grin. Harry ducked into the back seat and placed his bag on the floor and his head on the back of the seat. The partition rolled down halfway and Harry heard a, "Where to, Mr. Styles?"

"Heathrow, please." The tinted window slid back up and left Harry alone with his thoughts.

I'll do whatever you need. Anything at all. Harry shook his head against the words he'd heard a week ago. Like I said, anything it takes. We'll discuss details face to face. Harry had no idea what his mom was talking about, but he knew that it couldn't be good, and he didn't want to stick around to find out. Then his mom left for a nearly a week and Harry was sure she was in the middle of something big. Probably stealing money, or blackmailng foreign countries. Who knew? Not Harry, and he didn't want to. He was out. The car pulled up to a crowed Heathrow airport, filled with tourists taking photos, celebrities having their photos taken, and families that couldn't get their children to settle for a single photo if it killed them.

Harry walked in the door and to the nearest check in desk he could see. The host was a blonde woman with thick lips and a teasing smile. "ID and ticket, please," she said brightly after giving Harry a once over. Harry couldn't even pretend to flirt back. He gave her the best smile he could muster in the situation and handed over his ID.

"I don't actually have anything booked yet. I need whatever flight is leaving right now. Window, aisle, I don't care. Just one seat, out of this country." Harry tried not to let his desperation come out in his voice, but then figured his request betrayed all of that.

The woman nodded and looked to her screen. She typed something in and then pointed a finger at a flight Harry couldn't see. "There's a direct to Paris leaving in twenty. It's pretty packed, but if you don't mind sitting towards the back-"

"Paris. Perfect. I'll take it."

The woman smiled. "And will you be checking any bags with us today?"

Harry shook his head and stamped down his impatience. "No, thank you, ma'am."

The woman typed in a few more things and Harry handed over his passport and payment before she could ask. The blonde picked it up and finished his reservation. She returned everything with a pleasant, "Your boarding pass. Security is-"

"I know. Thank you so much," Harry waved as he made his way to the escalator and climbed it two steps at a time to security. There weren't many in line at the moment, a dead space where all the smart people already passed through for their flight about to leave, and the other smart ones haven't shown up for a later flight yet. Here Harry was, the only dumb one, or desperate one, he thought bitterly. He placed all of his stuff in bins; shoes, coat, bag, etc. He walked through the scanner and winked cheekly at the security person working it, not that it mattered that he was middle aged and a little pudgy, Harry just liked to play. It was the little things he could do to keep himself from remembering that he was, for all intents and purposes, running away from home. Because that's what he did when things got rough. He ran, and hid, and cowarded like a child.

The guy rolled his eyes and passed Harry through to get his belongings. Unfazed, Harry gathered his stuff and rushed off to where his plane should be taking off any minute. The flight attendent at his gate scanned his pass and followed him down the runway, apparently he was the last person to board. Harry checked his seat number and realized he'd have to walk through both long sections of the plane before he got to his seat. And it was coach. Not that he was spoiled, but he was accustomed to a certain lifestyle. He hadn't flown coach since that one time he travelled with a friend that couldn't afford it so he downgraded and sat with her. Now he had to pass seventy-thousand rows, past a tacky brunette with lip injections, an uptight business man in a smart suit, and two attractive blokes sitting next to each other. He paused for a moment at the undeniable good looks of the one with headphones in, then realized the other was probably his boyfriend, and assumed that had to be right because he was just as attractive, and the world worked like that.

Things in coach were a completely different story. There were a set of sisters climbing over the backs of their chairs to try and reach their parents. A fat, old woman who decided it was okay to take her shoes off. Harry kept his gaze up and squeezed through the narrow aisle to get to his seat in the second to last row. He stowed his bag and settled in for the thankfully short flight, ignoring the elbow job his ribs were getting from his seatmate. Harry even dozed off for a minute, or an hour who knows, before the plane was landing in Paris' famous, and almost as crowded, Charles de Gaulle airport. He stood up, ready to just flitter off the plane, only to be smushed into the door of the bathroom by everyone that wanted to get out ahead of him. He huffed and sat back down. His seatmate gave him a unimpressed look and went back to his tablet, where he'd been playing Angry Birds since Harry sat down. Harry waited patiently, okay maybe not patiently but with tolerance, while everyone and their dog (literally) exited the plane. He only stood when the aisle looked clear of occupents. Seatmate sighed, nonplussed, and reached up to open the overhead bin. Harry grabbed his bag and trudged along the worn down carpet until he hit the hallway back into the airport. In comparison to the cramped space of the plane, it felt like the Grand Canyon. He breathed in the still relatively stale air with a new fondness.

But none of that could compared to the real fresh air that came with the small towns outside of Paris. Harry took the train to Chantilly and found his usual bed and breakfast that he ran to when he was in France. The owner, a small, older woman, greeted him with a smile and a hug. "Harold," she cooed even though she knew that wasn't his name.

"Bonnie," he greeted warmly.

The ederly woman hit him on the shoulder and scolded, "You never visit anymore." Her accent was thick and had Harry on his toes, trying to decipher her words.

"Very busy. I'm going back to uni in the fall for my last year, you know. Have to keep my marks up," he kissed her forehead and soothed.

"Good for you, Harold!"

"Thank you," he ducked his head, "Now if you don't mind, I'm very tired and would love a room."

Bonnie went around the desk to the keys, grumbling, "Always in a hurry. Young people today." Harry just let his lips turn up in fondness and took the key he was offered.

"Number seventeen," he said as he twirled the black leather embossed with a fading gold number, and an equally ragged key hanging from it, in his hand. "That was my room number the first time I came here."

She patted his hand, "I remember dear. You showed up, drunk off your ass and naked, begging for shelter."

"Which you granted."

"Why, I'll never know."

Harry laughed with her. "Because you are kind woman." Bonnie just hummed and waved Harry away.

Harry maybe wasn't physically tired, must he was mentally taxed. He shrugged off his clothes and piled them neatly in the chair before going to use the quaint, yet luxurious, shower that his favorite place offered. Once he was under the water it was like all his problems melted away, ran down the drain with the clear, clean water of the countryside. He let the soap clean off the dirty feeling he'd had for a week now, every since he heard his mom whispering of immoral acts. He stayed there until his skin was wrinkled and the water had turned cold. He grabbed a towel from the shelf by the sink, glad for the leisure of quality in even the smallest things. He didn't bother wrapping up and just ran the towel through his hair, shaking out his curls. He fell back on the bed and use the towel as a pillow to keep the sheets from soaking through. He thought about what he would spend his week in France doing. He obviously had to go see an old friend, an artist, before he left. But other than that he figured he'd just see where the wind took him.

***

The wind practically hurled him into the dark backstreets of Paris. He'd vowed to stay out of the city for at least a couple days, but then he'd needed to go into town to rent a car, and then he saw the small museum his artist friend owned, and him and a couple people were painting in a live gallery at the back so he stayed. He chatted them up after, complimenting their talent and being generally charming, until his friend mentioned a rave that was happening that night. They insisted he come. And Harry was never one to be rude, or pass up a chance to grind on a stranger, so he accepted. They gave him the address and said not to be shy and walk right to the back. Harry wasn't sure what they meant, but he nodded and thanked them anyway. They said they hoped to see him around. He sent the likewise. Then he spent the rest of the day buying art from the gallery to be shipped to his apartment he stayed at during the school year.

By the time the sun had set and the moon hung like a protector over the shady streets of Paris, Harry had found his way to a hole in the wall pub. Turns out it was a gay bar, and it was drag night. Maybe Harry followed the cute blond guy with the fantastic shoulders into the bar, maybe he was just thirsty. Come to think of it, either way, Harry was thirsty. And it was Paris. So judge him, or don't, but it took all of ten minutes to get cute blond's number and a heated snog sesh. Harry shared a few rounds, but kept his wits about him because he still wanted to make it to the rave. Once he deemed it late enough to make his way to the real party, he gave a sweet kiss to blond guy's cheek and a waved to his friends, and then drove off in search of the address in his phone. He drove slower than normal, which was saying something, because he wasn't unsafe, even when intoxicated. When he found the place he was sure this was a joke, a prank pulled by his old mate. He stood in front of a tacky souvenir shop. Harry looked both ways down the street, hoping someone would jump out and yell gotcha, but no one did. He tried the door to find it unlocked, so he stepped inside. He remember his earlier advice to not be shy and walk right to the back, so he walked past some fairly creepy dolls and worn postcards. He wasn't sure if the store was actually adorable and his drunken state just made everything seem a bit nightmarish.

He found the door on the back wall, if only because he tripped over a toy and fell into it head first. It must've counted as a knock though because the door opened and a woman that was too tall and too thin smiled at him. She didn't say anything but just pulled Harry into the stairwell and shut the door behind her. Harry felt slightly like he might get murdered right this moment, but then he heard the pounding of music and it instantly relaxed him. Music always meant a good time. The woman walked next to him until they got to the bottom and then opened the door. Before him sat a sight to behold. There were people everywhere, but for some reason ninety percent of them were congealed in one section of the room, pushing and moving against each other. Harry needed to get in there right now. He gave a quick kiss to the air by the woman's cheek before she shut the door behind Harry. He imidiately pushed into the crowd, maybe too forcefully with the alcohol buzzing in his veins, until he was situated in a close space between people who were throwing their arms around and grinding on the person next to them.

Harry felt like he couldn't move fast enough to keep up with the other people, like they all had NOS in their systems and Harry was running on diesel fuel. But when he let the people around him move him instead of having to the do the work he started to relax into it. He let his eyes close and let his body be shoved gently between other bodies. When a small man interupted his serenity to ask him if he "Needed it?" he shook his head and closed his eyes again. He didn't open them again until he felt the abrupt force of someone that ran into his back. The someone didn't stop his flow, but instead moved with him, joining him in his slower pace. When he felt arms snake around his waist he turned to see his new dancing partner. His face broke into a smile at the pleasant surprise of someone so attractive. He felt a faint flicker of recognition, but threw it away in favor of putting his arms around the beautiful man's shoulders. The Beautiful Man looked up at him for only a second, giving Harry a glimpse at bright blue eyes, before his head dropped onto Harry's chest. Harry felt the warm comfort of his heated cheek through his shirt.

He brought his heavy arm up and let his fingers carelessly wrap themselves in The Beautiful Man's hair. It felt slick from sweat, but he couldn't seem to take his hand away. He was content to sway slowly with The Beautiful Man song after song, and his head fell gently on top of where Beautiful Man was leaning on his chest. He felt Beautiful Man's fingers scratch at the skin just above his jeans and he shivered just a little. Then Beautiul Man was trailing his soft lips up towards Harry's face, only milimeters from actually touching his skin.

"Did you know that a semi-automatic M16 can fire up to sixty rounds a minute?"

Harry was laughing loud in his head, but all that came out was a tame chuckle. "I didn't know that. Are you challenging me to sixty rounds a minute?"

The Beautiful Man did laugh loudly though and pulled on Harry's neck until his lips were pressed firmly to Harry's ear. "I would take you sixty times if you'd let me. You're so fit, I'd take you once or a hundred times, if you let me."

Harry's cock twitched in interest. He suddenly needed him and Beautiful Man to be in substancially less clothing. "Let me take you home," Harry offered.

Harry was rewarded with an amusing, breathy, "Thank God," before he was being pulled out of the crowd and made his way to the upper level. He was moving so fast, compared to how slow he felt next to all of those people, in his haste to get Beautiful Man somewhere he could be under him. Beautiful Man froze as soon as they got outside. Harry was tugged to a stop and saw him shiver so he wrapped him up and led him to where his car was parked. He opened the door and let Beautiful Man fall into the seat, then got in and started the car. He heard Beautiful Man's low moan of approval at the rev of the engine. Harry understood. He chose this car for a reason. He sent a small smirk in response and drove away from the little known secret below their feet.

Beautiful Man was silent for most of the ride, but he kept his hands occupied with Harry's body, so he didn't mind. His room at the B&B was a different story: Beautiful Man couldn't stop laughing when Harry did anything. He fumbled, the alcohol a steady thrum now instead of a vibrating force, with the button on his tight pants. Beautiful Man found that hilarious. Harry found it inconveniant to his plans to be fucked, so he almost tore the zipped apart to get them off.

"Tada!" Harry promlaimed when they were gone.

Harry quickly shut up Beautiful Man's, admittely adorable, laugh with touches and kisses. Soon Beautiful Man wasn't laughing but moaning, and Harry wasn't silent but whimpering. Harry let Beautiful Man have his way, again and again. It was like he couldn't get enough of this person he'd just met. He couldn't get enough when his face was pressed into the soft duvet and he was taken. He really couldn't get enough when Beautiful Man scooped him up, curled around him, and slid into him. He surely couldn't get enough when he was tucked into a small version of himself and felt Beautiful Man's tongue on his entrance, and when he replaced his tongue with his cock. He still couldn't get enough, so he curled up to Beautiful Man and let his mind fall into darkness with his hands pressed firm to his chest so he could soak up all he was allowed.