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The plates from the dinner you had cooked and eaten together were stacked in the sink along with the pans used. Your wine glasses, however, were still in hand. Before he left the kitchen, Taron swiped the bottle the open bottle of red from the counter and used the bottom of it to flick the light off, following you into the living room where you were already getting comfy.

Yet another rerun of How I Met Your Mother played on the TV as you snuggled into the sofa, your legs lifting to rest on Taron’s thighs when he himself had sat down.

While you flicked through the tv channels to see if there was anything else to watch—but effectively not finding anything and closing the guide so you could continue watching How I Met Your Mother—Taron poured more wine into your almost empty glass. When he was satisfied with the amount of alcohol in said glass, he put the practically empty wine bottle on the coffee table.

It was a typical Friday night. You’d make and share a home-cooked meal at the dining table with wine and one of Taron’s many records playing softly before you camped on the sofa with the tv on. More often than not it resulted in a sleepover where you’d have to steal his joggers and a t-shirt to sleep in.

Taron’s spare hand moved to lovingly rub your legs as you sat in silence and watched the tv for a little while. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, him rubbing your calves absentmindedly as you sat together in his living room, but it never made you feel any less jittery.

Your heart rate would always increase when he did it and why wouldn’t it? He was your best friend but the reassuring squeezes he gave your leg left you a mess. But at that point, you were sure that any touch from any man would turn you into a hot mess. It’d been so long since anyone touched you.

Oh how you needed to get laid.

The episode that played on the tv was one you’d seen numerous times before when it was on tv so you knew pretty much the whole script. To the point where you could say the line before the character could.

“You’re doing it again,” Taron chortled quietly from beside you.

You turned to him to apologise but no words left you. You were transfixed in the way he slouched back into the sofa with one hand on your legs and the other holding his wine glass to his lips. Said wine had turned his lips a deeper shade of pink and they looked even more kissable than they did on the daily.

Not that you ever thought about kissing him…no, you never did that. Okay, maybe a few times but who wouldn’t want to kiss him? The man was insanely handsome and he knew it. His could go from smouldering to smiling with his big dimples in 0.000000003 seconds and he had the ability to go from broad and muscular to soft and squishy in an instant. He was perfect, really.

Embarrassment flooded you when you realised your bad habit had raised its ugly face once more. You grabbed the edge of the fluffy blanket that hung from the back of the sofa, slumped as far back as you could and pulled the material over your face to hide from Taron who laughed softly.

“No need to hide. It’s proper cute,” he smiled down at you, squeezing your leg reassuringly, completely unaware of the effects it had on you.

“It’s not cute,” you reiterated through a huff. You knew that it wasn’t cute because you’d been told numerous times before.

The only part of your face that was visible to Taron was your eyes but he didn’t doubt for one second that you were pouting under the grey blanket. You always were when he would mention your mumbling of each line from whatever you were watching. He couldn’t remember a single time that you would watch something together where you wouldn’t mumble the words.

“It’s fucking annoying,” you continued, “and I need you to slap me every time I do it from now on, okay? I’ve always been told to stop it and it’s about time I listen. I can’t imagine how pissed off you get listening to me and-”

“I think it’s cute,” He replied matter of factly to stop you from rambling in nervousness. “Just because you were told over and over again by your family that you need to stop doesn’t mean that you do.”

The truth was, Taron secretly loved when you would recite the scripts. He loved seeing you at your absolute most comfortable, not paying any attention to anything or anyone around you. There was something so intensely intriguing about seeing you completely fixated on the tv in front of you, your wine glass resting against your lips as you softly mumbled the words around it.


“No buts,” Taron warned as he one again cut you off from rambling. “I like it when you recite stuff. You’re so swynol when you do.”

You could only roll your eyes at him when he laughed knowingly at you. He was well aware of the fact that you hated when he would throw random Welsh words into the conversation because you didn’t understand any of them.

There’d been many times in your new three years of friendship where you’d told him that you would learn Welsh. But you never did. Work was always kicking your backside and piling more and more stress onto you so that last thing you needed was the intensity of learning a new language.

Taron understood. Why wouldn’t he? He didn’t have enough hands to count the number of times you’d called him crying hysterically after a particularly hard day and each time you did, he would turn up at your flat with Ben and Jerry’s. You would then sit in your living room pretty much the same way you were that night (with your legs over his and a blanket over your body) as you offloaded every single one of your complaints.

His understanding never stopped him from throwing said random Welsh words into the conversation. He found it funny when you would let your eyebrows fall and bottom lip protrude slightly. Of course, he knew that there was the risk of you googling a translation for the words and he would be caught out but he also knew that you would have no way of knowing how to spell whatever he said.

“You promised no more Welsh!” You sighed, moving the blanket to reveal your dramatic pout.

“And you promised you’d learn Welsh…” He trailed off in reply, finishing his wine and putting leaning to the right to put his glass on the table.

“You know better than anyone else how rough work is, T. Karen is a bitch and keeps giving me more shit to do,” you paused to pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath before downing the rest of your wine. “Did I tell you that she tried to make me work longer tonight? I stupidly got there at half eight this morning–even with a coffee pitstop–and she wanted me to stay until half ten tonight.”

“I hope you told her to do one,” Taron whispered gently. He knew that you clearly needed to let off steam and if you’d chosen that moment to vent then he would happily oblige and listen to you. Even if you were there all night.

“Oh, I did indeed. And not politely either. Genuinely thought I was gonna get fired,” you breathed a laugh, tilting your glass to watch the pesky drops of wine not consumed by you pooling.

“Atta girl!”

You looked back up to him with furrowed brows.

“Not the thinking you were gonna get fired part!” He added quickly. “That’s shit. I meant you telling her to do one in a not so polite manner. I’m proud of you.”

Proud. Taron was proud of you. And you had no idea why that made you feel all giddy inside. As he told you how sincerely proud of you he was, he gave you the biggest smile ever. His dimples appeared deeper than they ever had and his eyes were squinted from how his cheeks were. It was a true Taron smile and it was incredibly intoxicating.

“Thank you,” you chuckled. “Don’t celebrate me finally standing up for myself at work too soon though. I was pressured into working longer on Tuesday instead like an idiot.”

“Tuesday?” Taron quizzed quietly. He hoped he’d heard wrong. But that didn’t stop him from sounding any less hurt.


“But Tuesday’s beer and pizza night.” He was definitely hurt. Alongside your Friday night dinners, you would have beer and pizza on a Tuesday while you watched shitty films and did nothing.

“I know. That’s why I called myself an idiot.” You paused and looked at Taron but he wouldn’t look at you. “Hey, you’re not mad are you? I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Mad?” He finally looked at you, grabbing your hand and holding it tightly. “I’d never be mad about that. I’m mad at Karen for being a bitch and pressuring you into working on our night…but I’m not mad at you. Could never be mad.”

“You’re sure?”

Spending time with Taron was your favourite part of the week. It didn’t matter how rubbish you felt in the minutes, hours, or days leading up to it, as soon as you saw him you felt so relaxed. You’d seen him dressed in designer suits on numerous red carpets, dressed in the most ludicrous outfits on movie sets and slightly dressed up for tv interviews but Taron at home in his comfies? That was your favourite Taron.

When he worked you had to swap Tuesday night pizza for a brief Facetime and Friday night dinners became you both ordering a takeaway wherever you were and chatting through Facetime. It was good but it wasn’t having him sat at the other end of the sofa with his hand on your legs burning a hole into your skin. It wasn’t having him turn to you when he thought you weren’t paying attention just to smile wistfully at you and it wasn’t having him falling asleep with his head in your lap if he’d had a particularly hard day.

“I’m 100% positive,” he smiled at you, leaning forward just enough so that he could hold his pinky out for you to link yours with. “I’ll even give in to your silly pinky promise rule.”

“It isn’t silly,” you urged before wrapping your little finger around his, shaking it gently with a smile.

His skin was warm against yours and you were sure that you’d felt a little jolt of something when you made contact. It was hard trying not to let it show. Taron had managed to pick up on your slight shift in demeanour, however, but being the gentleman that he was he didn’t mention anything.

“I don’t even know why Karen hates me,” you mumbled, your brain going into overdrive. You’d been working at the PR company for a little over a year but your senior never seemed to like you. She was always giving you the hardest bits of work to do, making you stay late to finish the stuff she should have been doing and she all around treated you like trash. You didn’t know why.

“I don’t know how anyone couldn’t love you,” Taron spoke up genuinely. Sure, his eyes moved away from yours within a millisecond but you could tell that he meant what he said.

“Huh?” You replied, needing him to repeat what he’d said or better yet, explain what he meant so that you could decipher exactly what he meant.

“I…um…nevermind, ignore me.”



“Tell me what’s on your mind, please.”

You knew that there was something stopping him from thinking straight. Three years of friendship meant that you knew pretty much everything there was to know about him. You knew that the first thing he did on a morning was listen to Joni Mitchell while he made his cup of coffee, you knew that when he ate his food, he’d move things around his plate so that he could eat his food in the order he preferred and you knew that if he could feel his toes touch he had to stretch them out so they weren’t touching because it bothered him. You also knew that when he had something on his mind he would go quiet and shut down.

“I can’t,” he responded gingerly.

“Why not?”


“Taron I swear to god,” you sighed, tilting your head to the side so that you could try to look into his eyes. “You know that you can tell me anything. Could even tell me that I look fat and I’ll accept it. Please tell me what’s on your mind.”

You could see the cogs working in his head. You could see his eyes close momentarily and you could sense him talking to himself. Everything happened in slow motion. The way he opened his eyes and looked up, watching as you tilted your head back up to look at him. The way he took a deep breath as he licked his lips.

“Be brave,” Taron whispered, taking your hands in his as he pulled you closer to him.


No other words were spoken between you. They couldn’t be when Taron’s lips were on yours. At first, you were taken aback and didn’t know how to respond but when you realised that he was really kissing you and it wasn’t a daydream, you pulled one of your hands from his and gripped the side of his jaw firmly.

You weren’t letting him pull away when you’d waited three years to see if his lips felt as good as they looked. They did. In fact, they felt better if that were even possible. His plump top lip slotted perfectly between both of yours, his bottom one creating the perfect suction that had your head spinning.

Your hand never left his jaw and you let the tips of your fingers–which were at the back of his neck–pull him closer to you. Kissing Taron was better than you could have ever expected. He was soft and gentle but devoured your kisses at the same time. His hands moved from yours to your waist where he dragged you over the sofa until you were situated in his lap.

He clung to your waist as if he was scared that you would disappear. His kisses had started off slow and gentle but the more you both eased into it, they got hungrier and needier. Some kisses were tiny pecks when he’d pulled away with your lip held lightly between his teeth, some kisses were longer where your noses squished together and you could barely breathe and some were open mouthed with a cheeky lick of the tongue into your mouth.

Each and every kiss left you dizzy. They were euphoric and beyond anything you’d ever experienced before. Taron refused to kiss you only one way. He kept you on your toes with switches when you least expected them. But you had to admit that your favourite part of kissing him was when you were beyond breathless and you could feel him grip your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled away.

When he pulled away properly you were unable to open your eyes for a while. You felt like you’d run a marathon with how breathless you were. Your head was swimming, your pulse beating in your ears as you brought yourself back to earth. With your hand still settled on his stubbled jaw, you finally willed your eyes to open slowly.

Taron looked at you expectantly, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he looked for any reaction from you. Kissing you was the last thing he’d expected to do when you walked into his flat in your comfiest clothes after a hard day at work. But kissing you was the best thing he’d done in his entire life.


“Don’t you dare say that you’re sorry, Taron Egerton,” you interrupted sternly, moving your hand from his face so that you could point at him. “Don’t you dare.”

Your lips were numb from the suctioning kisses and the stubble that sat proudly on the bottom half of Taron’s face but it was welcomed. God, was it welcomed. If your lips weren’t darker from the bottle of wine you’d consumed between the two of you, they were after what felt like a lifetime of making out on the sofa.

You looked straight into Taron’s eyes as your breathing finally started to slow back down. He looked at you the same way. Neither of you said anything, not quite sure what to say.

So you didn’t say anything. You leant forward once again and pressed your lips to Tarons, holding the back of his neck to keep him close to you. He complied instantly, moulding his lips to yours and breathing you in completely. Your perfume filled his nostrils, making him sigh in relief. One of his hands found refuge on your waist while the other held your jaw the same way yours had his previously.

You kissed like there was no tomorrow, like it was your one and only chance to show him how you felt. And maybe it was. You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. He might wake up and decide that it was all a mistake, that he didn’t like you as anything other than a friend. You kissed like you were kissing for every day that you spent not kissing.

You were both insatiable for one another, your lips growing hungrier the longer they were connected. It was as though Taron could feel your thighs growing tired. So while you were in a particularly steamy kiss with your tongues meeting before drawing back teasingly, he twisted himself and lowered you onto the sofa.

The hand that was holding your waist moved to support himself as he hovered over you, his hips pressing into yours perfectly. A tiny moan left your throat and Taron swore he was having an out of body experience. He could feel his already hardening cock twitch in his trousers and it stilled you for a second.

Kissing him was one thing, but knowing that it was turning him on was another. Taron was your best friend and you were suddenly scared that whatever you were doing was going to ruin your friendship. You’d seen it happen before. Best friends wind up kissing one night, they sleep together after promising it won’t affect their friendship and then they can no longer be friends.

You didn’t want that with Taron. He was your safe space, your haven. If you felt shitty he was the first person you would call and if he felt shitty you were the first person he would call. You were comfortable enough with one another that no conversation was out of bounds. You could talk about the most disgustingly graphic thing and you’d both fall into laughter at the end. You couldn’t not have him in your life.

“Wa-wait,” you mumbled against his lips after he’d left the most tantalizing peck to your lips.

“What’s wrong? Do you want me to stop?” Taron asked frantically, rolling to the side so that he fell from the sofa onto the floor. If you wanted to stop then he would stop, no questions asked. Well, maybe a couple of questions asked.

“What are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“What are we doing? We’re making out on your sofa, you’re getting turned on and I don’t think I can stop.” You were frantic yourself, a million and one different thoughts spinning in your head.

“Then let’s not stop,” he replied quickly, leaning forward to press another kiss to your lips.

With him knelt on the floor you had to turn slightly and you held his face once more, his stubble tickling your palms. But you pulled away quickly, needing to know how he felt.

“Is this what you want? Do you want to be doing this…with me?”

“There’s no one else I’d rather be doing it with,” he replied without skipping a beat, his eyes firmly watching yours to show that he was being serious. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to kiss you?”

You could only shake your head, not quite believing that the man you’d silently loved for so long wanted to be with you like that. He’d mentioned on so many occasions how he wasn’t a one night stand kind of guy and he would only sleep with someone if they meant something to him. You meant something to him.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to kiss me?” You replied through shaky breaths. If you continued this there was no going back. You couldn’t wake up and pretend nothing had happened.

Taron told himself in that moment that if he didn’t tell you how he felt then, he’d chicken out for the rest of his life and never tell you.

“You’re so prydferth,” he whispered against your left cheek before planting a kiss to it, “craff,” he kissed your right cheek, “doniol,” your forehead, “caredig,” your left eyelid, “hael,” your right eyelid, “and perffaith,” your lips.

He let his lips linger on yours for a minute, not quite kissing you but not pulling away. He wanted to be close to you while he tried to compose himself. For three years he’d watched you grow from a shy 25-year-old to a confident, carefree, boss bitch 28-year-old and each year he’d fallen more in love with you. Finally being able to tell you how amazing you were–even if in a language you didn’t understand–was incredibly overwhelming and he was seconds away from letting a few tears fall.

When you couldn’t take it any longer and pressed another kiss to his lips, he gripped your waist and pulled you off the sofa and onto his body, letting your straddle his hips. The need to have him in another way grew so much that you involuntarily moved your clothed centre over his growing bulge. You could feel and hear his breathing hitch in his throat, a low, guttural moan escaping his pretty lips.

“Fuck, do that again,” he whispered with his eyes shut.

You rocked over him again and again until you were pinned on the floor underneath him.

“Proper ruining me, you are,” he breathed heavily as he pressed his hips forward harshly and pushed his now throbbing dick onto your centre. You could feel it pulsing against you softly with each rock of Taron’s hips and your back arched from the feeling despite there being four layers of clothing between you.


You gripped his flexed biceps as he thrust into you at a steady pace. There was no doubt in your mind that your nails would be creating little crescent moons in his skin which would bruise but you didn’t care. Marking him would mean that he would be reminded of you.

“Taron,” you whimpered when he thrust a tiny bit harder, brushing your most sensitive spot.

Since the first tiny moan left your throat when you were still on the living room floor, Taron had been a goner for you. But there was something so filthy…so desperate in the way you barely managed to say his name that it turned him into an animal. So he thrust again at the same force, watching as your eyes started to roll into the back of your head.


The visual he had mixed with the sound of your skin meeting and your juices coating his dick pulled him closer to the edge. But he refused to let himself topple. You wouldn’t let him taste you, so desperate to have him inside you so he wanted you to cum. No, he needed you to cum. He needed to prove to you that he would keep his promise and make you feel good.

And boy did he. His pubic hair–which was unruly because he hadn’t expected to have sex so he didn’t groom that day–tickled your clit with each thrust and added to the intense pleasure he was giving you. No other man had ever made you feel so good so effortlessly and okay, there was always the chance that it was the adrenaline of sleeping with your best friend but you knew it wasn’t.

He knew too. No other woman had left him wanting to draw out the sex as much as you did. Despite him being out of breath and so, so close to his release, he wanted to stay inside you forever. He wanted you to keep him warm and snug with your walls fluttering around his dick as you whispered how good he felt and rubbed your hands up and down his biceps.

As much as Taron didn’t want to admit it, he was extremely close to his end. But you were too. The fire in your tummy was burning hotter with each perfect thrust of Taron’s hips. Though it didn’t take long for his thrusts to grow sloppy, his need to release too much for him. He tried to hold off, tried to wait until you came but he couldn’t.

“Can’t,” he breathed gruffly as he looked into your eyes, trying to figure out how you felt. “Not gonna last much longer.”

Your hands ran from his biceps up to his shoulders and around his neck where you pulled him closer so that you could kiss him gently. It wasn’t hungry like your kisses had been before you removed your clothes. It was soft and delicate…and your way of telling him that it was okay.

“Cum for me, Taron.”

Four words. Five syllables. That’s all it took for Taron to completely jump over the edge. His head fell into the centre of your boobs as he rode out his high, feeling your clench to milk him for all he was worth.

“Ffycin uffern,” Taron breathed when he could open his eyes again.

“Fucking hell?”

“That you know?” He asked with a scoffed laugh.

“Hey,” you responded, holding your finger up, “if I was gonna learn anything it’d be the swear words. Come on now, you’ve known me how long?”

“Touché,” he replied, retracting his hips slowly until his slowly softening cock was no longer nestled inside you. You felt insanely empty without him filling you and your hands clawed out at him to pull him back into you but he shook his head, shifting down the bed until his face was in line with your soaked heat. “I’m sure I promised to make you feel oh so, da, didn’t I?”

“I don’t know what that means,” you giggled.

“Well, why don’t I show you?”

You weren’t given a second to process his words before his right index and middle fingers were parting your lips and his tongue was swiping from your pulsing entrance to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and giving it a harsh suck.

“Holy. Fucking. SHIT,” you exclaimed as you gripped his hair and tugged it firmly.

You’d had guys go down on your before but you’d never had a guy go down on you quite like Taron did. He didn’t do one thing for very long, switching from sucking harshly on your clit to licking a stripe all the way up your slit to literally fucking you with his tongue before flicking your clit. He didn’t have a pattern either. He did whatever he wanted, and clearly it worked before your hips bucked off the mattress multiple times asking for more.

But he wasn’t having any of that. He wanted you still and so his big, strong hands–the ones that so beautifully cupped your bum when he carried you into the bedroom–held you down so you couldn’t squirm.

When he was sure that you were still wet enough for him, he let his middle finger circle your entrance as he pulled back to look at you. Seeing him between your legs with your hands in his hair and the bottom half of his face completely saturated in your juices was erotic. There were no other words in the English language better suited to the situation.

His finger finally sank into you and he found great pleasure in seeing your lips part involuntarily. You didn’t feel anywhere near as full as you did when his dick was inside you but god he still felt good. He would twist his finger and massage your walls before pulling out slowly just to push back in.

You were whimpering underneath him as he added his tongue to the mix, swirling your clit at the same time as he twisted his finger inside you. And when he added his ring finger? The first that was building once again raged even more. There was nothing you could do to stop yourself. You were going to cum no matter what and by god did you need it.

“That feel good, prydferth?” He mumbled into your cunt, relishing in the feel of you clenching around his digits.

“God yes!” He could have called you ugly and you wouldn’t have cared. He made you feel so good that you genuinely couldn’t care less. “I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered.

At that, he pulled his mouth away so that he could sit up and watch your face contort in pleasure. His fingers worked ever so slightly faster as you twisted on the bed, desperate for a release.

“Come on, know you’ve got it in you.”

“Fuck.” It was drawn out as your eyes squeezed shut so tightly you could literally see stars. Your hands had fallen from his hair a while before and your knuckles were ghost white as you clenched the sheets beside you.

“That’s it, baby. Nice and slowly.”

When your hands moved to his wrists to stop him, he stopped his soft massage of your walls and pulled his hand away. And just as you thought he was going to wipe his hand on the bed or something, he lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked his fingers clean. You were entranced by him. Unsure as to how he could look so sexy but so adorable at the same time.

“You’re so gross,” you laughed as Taron crawled back up the bed to where you were and fell behind you with a soft thud.

“Mmm, I am gross. But how could I not when you taste so sweet?”

Even though you were bloody exhausted and physically unable to go again, Taron’s words left your clenching your thighs and your cunt throbbing once again. It baffled you how words alone could make you want to devour someone whole, showing them how much they mean to you.

“I know you’re coming to the Golden Globes with the tribe and me already,” he spoke up randomly, chuckling when you twisted to face him with your eyebrows furrowed, “but I want you to go as not my best friend.”

“What do you mean?” you asked quizzically.

“I want you there as my girlfriend. I want you by my side whether I win or lose. I want to show you off. But I want to take you on a date before that. A proper date, in a restaurant or something where we dress up real nice. Or we could go to the cinema? Sit at the back and make out the entire time?”

It was your turn to chuckle as you shook your head playfully. Despite being 30, he was still a huge child at heart. But that’s what you loved about him. He didn’t take himself too seriously and he was always coming up with stupid ideas that were sure to get you killed at one point. But if you were doing them with him, you’d do them all day, everyday.

“You want me to be…”

“My girlfriend, if you want me to be your boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. Taron wanted to be your boyfriend. Your heart burst in your chest as you smiled up at him, watching the dimples appear in his cheeks as he smiled back.

“Bloody took you long enough to ask.”