"𝙆𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚, 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮."
29-year-old Harry has many skeletons in his closet.
As Harry rapidly approaches thirty, his affections for a girl he has loved for many years of his life are unraveled through a series of unanticipated events.
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"Now she's a little boy in Spain Playing pianos filled with flames On empty rings around the sun All sing to say my dream has come."
- Holland 1945 by Neutral Milk Hotel.
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ABIGAILMathers was an angel.
A Botticelli angel from fucking heaven.
Harry has always known that very well, but when those ghostly pale hands haphazardly reached out to grip his shoulders and those cherub lips meshed with his, he truly felt in his bones the divine being that was his sweet Abby.
The first few seconds of the kiss felt like a death. An endless oblivion in a wormhole of time he had been spewed into. There in that sweet void, he floated, his flesh all but stardust and his soul a scattered whisper of whatever lived of him in Abigail's heart. For that was all that mattered. He wasn't his anymore, nor was he his mother's or his father's. None of the versions of him that lived in him or in the people that knew him mattered. He was solely Abigail's. Where she began, he did. Anything before that was inexistent.
However, just as he settled into that nothingness, happily devoid of everything, he was being violently spat out as the symphonious melody of a shy whimper sounded in his ears.
His ears rang and his skin prickled with sensitivity. He was back on Earth, and he could feel Abigail right on him. Her soft hair on his neck and arms, the smooth material of her dress, the warm feel of her waist in his hands, the skin of her cheeks on his face, her smell, her fucking shy lips awkwardly pressed to his - anxious and scared.
The mad man in him woke.
With a rough tug, he pulled her slight frame closer. Strong arms entwined around her in an impossible grip like a snake capturing his prey and Abby felt her sides almost ache from the pressure. A large hand ran up her back making her shiver and firmly gripped the back of her neck in a grounding hold.
Then he began feasting.
He ate at her mouth mercilessly. Swallowing every breath, every sound of pleasure. He sucked on her tongue, bit her lips till they began to swell up. He pushed her head into him more and more as he kissed her deeper. He kissed her like he owned her. Holding her neck in position for him, gripping her waist in a bruising hold that would no doubt be marked with the stains of his rough touch. Abby felt like a doll in his hands. A helpless little doll under his dominating kiss.
Abby had never experienced anything like this. She was by no means a virgin and had her fair share of partners, and good, satisfying experiences, but never anything like this.
Nothing possessive. Dark. Branding.
His mouth got harsher and harsher and when she unwillingly tore her mouth away from his for air, he tugged her hair back to expose her neck to him so he could ravish the skin there. His warm mouth sucked and nipped at her neck with ferocity and all Abby could do was whimper pathetically, gripping him tightly as if she'd float away if she let go as her head lulled around in all-consuming pleasure from his kisses alone.
