Annabel [h.s.]

twenty-four

Six months have passed since Harry and Annabel decided to make Ireland their permanent home, and, so far, everything's gone well. They've taken a step back from their usual number of victims for now, only splurging twice a month to keep the feds off their trail. Harry's gotten a little antsy, but the low number of murder's their committing has started to grow on him and the urges haven't been as bad lately.

Currently, Annabel's finishing up her nightly bedtime routine in the bathroom. Tonight, Harry's decided to let her be and not interrupt her to fuck her against the shower wall. He loves interrupting her, but he doesn't want to smother her and push her away.

They've gotten used to being around each other, in the same space, and he wants to show her that she can have time to herself in the house and not just in her lively greenhouse.

She's left the door open a crack and he's trying not to stare or to look over too much as she drops her towel and starts dressing. They haven't had sex for a week because he's been worried about getting wrapped up in his blood-lust and scaring himself to death as he rushes her to the hospital to fix his mistake.

And, really, the brief pause in their sex life has been good for both of them. Harry's gotten better at ignoring his violent urges and Annabel's gotten a much needed bodily relief. Sex is great, and she loves the way they abuse each other, but it puts so much strain on nearly every part of her body and she's grateful for their current hiatus.

Annabel's brushing her teeth and Harry hums to himself to fill the silence in the room. He can hear everything she's doing, but the room itself feels empty when she's not in it.

It's a little drafty too, which could be because he's only in his boxers, or it could be because their thermostat is acting up again. He'll call someone about it tomorrow.

The lights in the bathroom are cut off and Harry happily shifts his focus to Annabel. They've never quite given their relationship a title—except during hospital visits—but they both know that they're more than just casual lovers.

Harry's lips twitch up in a smile as she steps out of the bathroom in one of his dark blue shirts that barely reaches the tops of her thighs, and the black, lacy lingerie panties that he bought for her shortly before their initial trip to Ireland. She loves that set of lingerie and he's sure that she'd live in it if she could.

The bed dips as she climbs in beside him and Harry's smile grows noticeably. Annabel makes sure that she doesn't leave any space between them and hides her face in his neck. He smells like pine needles ad he feels like home. She's never equated home with another person before, but equating it to Harry feels right, even if the threat of death will always linger with him.

"Why's it so chilly?"

Harry laughs and scoots a little closer. His hands rest on her hips and her warm breath fans his neck, relieving the small part of him that missed her presence while she was in the bathroom. Recently, he's found that he doesn't like to be away from her for too long and he's not sure how he feels about that yet.

"Think the thermostat's broken again."

His fingertips fall to the hem of her shirt—his shirt, really—and lightly graze the soft skin of her thighs.

Annabel laughs softly. She knew that he wouldn't last very long without sex, and she's honestly surprised that he managed to hold out for an entire week.

"You can fix that, right?"

Warm lips graze her shoulder and leave goosebumps in their wake, "Momentarily."

A gentle sigh escapes her as she shifts to give him more access. She'd like to say that she doesn't want to do this now—that she wants to lay off the sex for a few more days—but she wants it just as much as he does and it's hard to say no to him.