PARAMNESIA

Nikki wakes up in a hotel room with very few memories and a huge hangover. H/N, a little smutty.

As I stated in a conversation with Caramelchan, the SW fanfic archive is looking a little sparse on the H/N these days. So I decided to churn out a oneshot, and what you got is this strange piece. I don't even know what it is – it's some sort of story told in a backwards, muddled order. I hope it makes some sense, and I hope you enjoy!

You don't know where you are when you wake up, you've never seen this room before, but you're in a bed, in your own lace, so you don't panic. The throbbing in your head suggests you had far too much to drink last night, you're not surprised you can't remember getting here.

Lips on your skin, travelling down your throat, breath hitching as they circle your left nipple…

Woah. You had guessed, turning up in a random hotel room, you hadn't been alone, but you hadn't expected to remember snippets so suddenly, so vividly… your skin feels like it's burning as you almost relive the lips against it… you're pretty sure you were screaming. Jeez, whoever this guy was, he must have been good. Hitching your breath slightly, you roll over, awaiting the big reveal. The bed's empty beside you, but as you now face what you assume is the en-suite, you see the steam billowing out of it and hear the shower running. He's still there.

A head of dark hair, travelling down your body, to between your legs…

A tongue, between your folds, fingers on your clit…

You're sure you're flushing, remembering, which is ridiculous, because you're the only one in the room, but you ache where you didn't even know it was possible to ache, and in a good way. You sit up slowly, looking down at the other side of the bed for evidence as to your companion's identity.

It's all very non-descript, however, a pair of black shoes (average sized), smart jeans, a pale blue shirt, a plain black coat, a brown leather wallet falling out of one of the pockets.

Pulling down those jeans, and a pair of black boxers, taking him in your hands, still reeling from an orgasm, but needing him, whoever he was, inside you. Marvelling at his size, guiding him towards you, feeling his mouth on your neck as he thrust into you…

You're practically seeing stars, remembering how he felt within you. Bigger than you were used to, touching places left for too long.

Suddenly you swallow, remembering were you'd been, earlier yesterday evening. You'd been on a first date with a guy from the biochemistry labs, who'd been a smooth talker with a 'good in bed' reputation, with dark hair and lovely dark eyes, who'd been asking you out for months before you'd agreed. Pete. He didn't have a particularly good reputation when it came to maintaining relationships, but you'd figured a few non-committal dates with a colleague who wasn't bad between the sheets wouldn't be anything you couldn't handle.

Swallowing again, you remember the evening going swiftly downhill. You hadn't supposed Pete thought you were a no-sex-before marriage kind of girl, but when you'd sat down for pre-dinner drinks with him and he'd asked if you wanted to go up to his hotel room and skip dinner, you'd felt like any self-worth you'd ever given yourself was dissolving. You're pretty sure you had coldly and calmly told Pete the date was over, you didn't appreciate being treated like that, and he'd gone out of the hotel 'looking for someone who was interested in a good time'. You'd gone to the hotel bar, and countless gin and tonics and whatever else later you'd ended up in this room, with someone.

You feel slightly nauseous as you think it might have been Pete. You hope to goodness he hadn't come back and found and taken advantage of a drunk and horny you. You should have had more self-respect than to let that happen, but with a few too many alcoholic drinks, you have no memory of the period between about gin and tonic number four and your mysterious dark haired stranger starting to rid you of your clothes in his hotel room.

You can't see his face, in any of these snippets.

You can feel his face, pressed against yours, his rough grunts as he pummels into you, his fingers, threading in your hair…

It's patchy, but suddenly in those memories there's a familiar face in the bar with you, and you're telling him everything that's happened with Pete. He gets all red in the face and angry looking, and threatens to go after him, but you laugh and order him his favourite drink.

You slip out of the bed, reclaiming various items of your clothing off the floor as you go – you must have been mad and frantic, the two of you, when entering the room, your clothes are everywhere. You slip the French knickers back onto your hips, and slide your thin grey jeans up your legs.

Fingers, sliding under the top and the side of those French knickers simultaneously, pressing into you, having you gasping…

Some indiscriminate amount of time later you're sure Pete was back in the bar, another pretty blonde on his arm, tottering in high heels, a look to her attire, make-up, cheap clutch bag and comfortable manner suggesting prostitute. You remember Harry half-staggering from his bar stool, and stepping towards Pete without responding to you calling him back, however half-heartedly. You suddenly remember, quite vividly, the smacking sound as Harry's fist connected with Pete's face.

There's a blur, then, but you can half see yourself washing and nursing Harry's bruised knuckles in an alien bathroom, and allowing him to tuck a blonde curl behind your ear.

Suddenly crashing over the edge, him right behind you, feeling your muscles clenching and the waves of pleasure course through you…

There were hushed words, and his face was too close to yours, you're sure.

Someone turns off the shower.

Breath hitching slightly, like some sort of reflex, you haphazardly button your sheer cream blouse back around you as the door opens.

Lips crashing against yours that you'd only tasted once or twice before, tongues dancing together as if they knew where they were going…

Because the universe doesn't hate you enough in that moment for it to be Pete or some other random stranger, Harry Cunningham walks out of the bathroom, a towel around his hips, a smile on his face you've never seen before.

You're still drunk enough to bend and press your lips gently against his bruised knuckles after you finish soothing them, and for that not to seem abnormal.

"My hero." You breathe, with a dry little laugh, "Thank you."

There's an almost anger in his tone. "You… this needs to stop, Nikki. You can't let men treat you like that. You're much more than that, and if you just let them-"

Indignant, you argue, "I didn't let him do anything, Harry, I told him to bugger off!"

His eyes flash, "And then got blind drunk in the same place, waiting for someone to come and take advantage of you, I-" he stops, noticing the tears in your eyes. His words cut, and maybe because they're truer than you'd like to admit.

"You think so little of me, don't you?"

He sighs, and steps closer. "I… I just… you don't give yourself what you're due. You're worth so much more than all those men, they can't see you for what you are, they don't treat you like you deserve…"

You tilt your head slightly, suddenly feeling coy and spontaneous, your heart beating slightly too fast. "And what am I worth?" you breathe, directing your eyes down to his lips, "What do I deserve?"

"Nikki…" he sounds warning, his eyes flickering all over your face, as if he's holding himself behind some sort of barrier, forcing himself not to react the way he wants to.

You loop your arms loosely around his neck, alcohol loosening your tongue, certainly, but the honesty from somewhere deeper within. "Show me how I should be treated."

His eyes flicker between yours and your lips as he comes crashing into you, tasting almost foreign…

He smiles at you, slightly nervously, and then he seems to register you're dressing yourself again, and frowns.

"You weren't planning on leaving without saying goodbye, were you?" he chuckles, "Because you can't avoid me forever, you know, work could cause a problem there…"

The joke falls a little flat, but you can't help smiling back at him. When you've got a moment to think on all this later, you'll consider how eternally grateful you are that it was Harry's sinful tongue between your legs, Harry's hands all over your body, Harry making you scream…

You take a step closer to him, with a slight shrug of your shoulders. "Good morning." You half whisper, looking up at him as he looks slightly bemused.

"You remember last night, right?" he frowns slightly, "We were both very drunk… but I… I don't think I could slot back into pretending nothing ever happened, I-"

"I remember." You smile, putting him out of his misery, stepping a little closer. "Not well, and not all the glorious details I wish I could, but I remember what you did for me, and I remember afterwards… it was very good."

He can't help the slightly self-satisfied smile on his face. "You weren't bad, yourself. I know now what everyone's been talking about…"

There's that smile on his lips, one you've known him long enough to read, the one where he's trying to irk you, waiting for you to rise to the bait. You give him a playful shove, raising an eyebrow.

"Everyone?" you chuckle, "You suggesting I'm locker room talk?"

He catches your hand. "Something like that." He pulls you closer to him. "But anyway, you were saying you didn't remember it clearly…"

You shake your head, feeling his whole body pressing against yours, and you're suddenly aware he's only wearing a white, standard, hotel-issue towel.

"Well-" there's a sparkle or something in his eyes, "-I can only think of one way to… refresh your memory…"

Your eyes travel down to his lips seconds before they reach yours.

FIN

I'd love you to leave a review telling me what you think, however short!

I apologise for the weirdness of this fic, this is apparently what happens when I decide I need to write another H/N oneshot and just word-vomit onto the page…