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bloom.

Harry was so fucking hot. All the time. Did he never get tired of looking so handsome?

She shrugged, walking over to sit beside him and threw her legs up so she was laying on his lap. Her cheek rested on his thigh, and Harry's painted fingernails scratched the roots of her hair. She made a little content sigh, letting her eyes flutter shut. Him touching her was like heaven.

"Mm. Feels nice, Harry." He let out a little chuckle. She was practically purring from his touch, all curled up on his lap. Her hands were resting on his knee, and he found himself admiring them. So dainty and delicate. Sometimes he pondered adding a ring to that finger of hers. He thought she'd be a very good person to grow old with. She loved routines and nights in, but she was witty and intelligent, though she loved simplicity she was definitely not boring. She kept you on your toes.

He wanted to stay like this forever. She was practically falling asleep in his lap, like putty in his hands. She made the odd sigh or moan in contentment every now and then as he let her destress.

She had been a bit stressed with Uni and her life at the moment, the work of it all was hard right now, so he wanted to do anything to help her calm down. The dinner had been a nice distraction for her, and she seemed a lot happier that evening than the text he had received from her that morning.

She rolled over to her other side so her face was near his hip nose grazing against his skin which smelt so fucking good — he used this expensive woodsy cinnamon soap it made her want to lick him all over. He continued his slow and delicate scratch on her head and his other hand rubbed her exposed back. Her hands moved to under his shirt, trailing along his fern tattoos and grazing the wisps of hair that lead underneath his waistband. Her nose grazed his skin as she tiredly nuzzled into him, feeling her eyes shut. She felt so safe in his lap and arms.

It was so domestic. They had become so domestic. He wished every day he could come home and say something cheesy like 'Honey, I'm home!' and scoop her up into his arms and kiss her silly. He longed for nights like this watching TV as she rested on his chest, moving with the rise and fall of his chest. He wanted the mornings too. When she grumpily didn't want to wake up unless it was from kisses and a coffee.

"Do y'want some wine?" He asked her, his voice all raspy.

They'd only each had a glass of champagne with dinner which had long since faded. Leaving them very sober.

"Sure. Red?" She asked sitting up. Her hair was slightly messy from his playing with it.

He nodded his hand finding her chin and lifting it up. "Whatever y'want, Lovie." He kissed her forehead before getting up and moving to the kitchen. She finally took her heels off and removed her scarf placing them on the floor. She stood up, feeling the soft rug on her sore feet.

She leaned down to the coffee table lighting some candles of his. She lit a soap-smelling one and then a lavender one. Then once she was happy with that she walked over to his records and looked for something nice to play.

She stumbled upon a Marvin Gaye one and she giggled to herself. It was kind of cheesy love making music, so she picked that one. She placed the record down on the turn table part and placed the stylus down. It began to hum a gentle sultry song and she moved back to the couch.

When Harry came back she was laying on the couch, spread out as she hummed along to Marvin Gaye. In his hands, he had a bottle red all the way from New Zealand and two pink-tinted wine glasses.

He laughed at her. "Look at yeh, Minx." He teased.

She smiled up at him, her dress was hiked up and she looked like the embodiment of idleness. She sat up so he could join her and he poured them both a glass.