[H.S] Shots

Drunk on you:

There’s something particularly sweet about the way Harry’s been kissing Y/n tonight.

It’s not like his affections aren’t always sweet and gentle, full of passion and love and an absolute craving for her, but tonight his tongue works in mysterious ways against hers, mystified by how perfectly their mouths work together so naturally, so effortlessly, like they were made for this.

And they were, of course. Every part of them was made for every part of each other, it shows in everything they do, in everything they touch, in everything they say — a perfect match made in a perfect heaven, too perfect for one another.

They are happiest this way — alone, all over each other, awake with the moon. These are their most private and intimate moments together. And though they are hardly ever apart or distracted from one another, their love reaches a depth beyond any other they’ve ever felt before, and this is where they let it all unleash.

So that’s how he ended up here — on his hands and knees, hovering over his beloved, kissing her and kissing her and kissing her, drunk on something much stronger than the frozen margaritas they made together earlier that night.

There’s never just kissing Y/n. There’s always another element she brings to it that just makes it so much more desirable, that makes it feel so much more than it actually is, when it already is so much. She touches him. She touches him a lot. Whether it be grazing her nails down his back and up his neck, or wrapping her legs around his waist with her fingers in his hair, or pushing herself further into him than he ever thought possible, somehow succeeding, she is always finding new ways to pull him in deeper and drown him in her devotion.

It shows him that she loves him.

And she does, so much. He knows she does. She tells him every day, every minute of every hour in every way. He knows she loves him when she wakes him up with gentle kisses to his cheeks and a quiet good morning, baby h to his lips. He knows she loves him when she sneaks them into the break room at work, giggling and blushing before smothering his lips against hers, as if it were the first time. He knows she loves him when she begs to feel more of him, as if he wasn’t already giving her his all, insatiable even in her bliss.

And there’s just something about the way the alcohol settled in him that makes all of this seem so nostalgic, as if the moment were a million miles away yet right at the edge of his fingertips.

Before he had gotten with Y/n, he would shut his eyes and lose himself in drunken thoughts of her — replaying their lunch hour conversations, reminiscing the sound of her voice and the movement of her lips, lusting over the way she looked in tight skirts and high heels. Most times those thoughts ended with shut eyes and continued dreams, other times it ended with him touching himself.

His hands would wander anywhere they pleased, the only reason being that he was obliterated, it felt like it was her hands that were on him, and so it all felt so much better. He had genuinely lost his mind enough to believe she was actually there with him, loving on him, touching him in ways nobody else had ever desired to.

He had been so in love with her for so long that he had clung to those nights of fantasies like no other. They were his escape, his temple, his high. And he just can’t believe that he’s finally got her after all this time.

It feels too good to be true. She feels too good to be true. And he doesn’t want this to slip through his fingers the way it always did. He doesn’t want to open his eyes only to find a life forced to live without her. That’s all he was ever used to, and he can’t handle the reality of that possibility.

“Tell me somethin’, yeah?” His words are soaked with intoxication and laced with lust, hardly separating his words properly but Y/n hears everything Harry ever speaks, no matter how intelligible or how quiet, no matter how low or incoherent. She is constantly in search of the sound of his voice, it’s the only one that ever brought her peace.