𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬- 𝐚 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

Harry- 16. Hot Tongues

Warnings: dark academia!au, aged-up characters

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Dark nights, littered paths and bubbling shenanigans- they felt too addicting to Harry.

No matter how much the temperature dropped, Y/n's icy fingers, playing with the rim of the empty paper cup, seemed intoxicating to him.

No, he wasn't drunk on firewhiskey; he was drunk over her leaden silhouette, dragging him through the snow arrayed paths of the Diagon Alley.

Merlin, the world seemed to halt, as their gazes met, Y/n's brown coat heaved up with her shoulders as a single puff of fog escaped her lips.

Cold, plump lips, Harry should add.

She felt as if the anachronistic buildings collapsed around them, as his verdant (lusted, she may assert) orbs bore into her, before lapping his lips into hers.

Does coffee make her tipsy?

Hell nah.

Does Potter do?

Yes.

As his lips continued doing wonders on her (wonder is just a small word to describe this indescribable feeling), her fingers slipped into the mess of his raven hair, the flickering snow amassed on them like dust, and tugged him deeper into her as his teeth gnashed and gnawed on the lower petal of her lips.

Strangled. Every sound eliciting from her lips sounded strangled. And Harry didn't like it even a single Knut.

Assuaging the assault on the lips, his head dipped lower, pushing away the mantle of warmth.

"Harry, don't..." her voice sounded timid, not having the bold command she wanted.

Quite the opposite, he attacked the verge of her neck, feeling her tense up at the sudden devouring as the veins of her jugular stood up, giving him even greater chances to create cacophony.

Her hands retraced their way to his forearm, trying to steady herself as his hands snaked inside the cotton blouse, creating a fiery sensation of contrasting temperature on her skin.

She felt stupefied at his touch, the terse squeezes his palms gave, she fell more in love with him.

Slightly panting, she eased the pressure on her eyelids when she felt the raking absence of his tongue on her neck; she didn't moan anymore, didn't even plead, the only voice pounding on the shell of her ear was his pants, or rather her.

But the words his eyes spoke were different.

So the hot tongues collided again.