Kismet

Sixteen [The Meeting]

He falls into your open arms and hugs you tightly; he should be ecstatic that you're here with him and appreciating his small tribute but your use of the word "single" just rubs him the wrong way. It instills that you still are not his even though it very much feels that way for him and he still has no idea what it will take for the two of you to cross that threshold.

His skin sparkles when you mutter thank you into his neck, his gaze settling on yours when your tone suddenly turns somber, "have you slept since your nightmare?" He shakes his head and you gasp, "two nights? Baby, I'm worried. You've gotta rest." You tug on his shirt and direct a coy smile in his direction, "would you cuddle with me?"

A bout of dizziness almost bowls Harry over with your innocent suggestion, images of the two of you sketch behind his eyelids; tangled up in linens with pillows strewn, rays of sunshine decorating your bed and your bare skin. His thoughts and reply are cut short by the shout of the final staff members announcing their exit, their farewell punctuated by the slam of the door.

He is still feeling the lingering effects of your closeness at the laundromat, his feet and hands taking precedence over his mind when he cups your cheek and neck and pulls you close for a kiss. The moan that snakes from the cracks of your mouth is louder than any you've set free thus far, Harry's tongue slipping out to sink inside of your mouth, your eagerness spurring his on from the abyss of his guts.

A small creak echoes through the kitchen from the entrance that leads to the restaurant seating. Harry pulls back with clear reluctance, his eyes skimming your face before another creak across the kitchen draws his attention away from you. He can just make out the figure lurking in the shadows, her long unnaturally light hair and her slight frame, a typical barely-there dress hanging from her shoulders. He had no idea that she was still here because she usually gets off before clean up is completed unless she sticks around for drinks. He had checked the bar about an hour ago just to be sure and didn't see her anywhere, so he assumes she had forgotten something and came back for it, internally cursing his shit timing and bad luck.

Harry's skin blisters with a horrible feeling when her jaw drops open and then clamps shut. You shout hello to her from across the kitchen and wave but instead watch as her tongue pokes into her cheek in annoyance, her eyebrows rising and falling before her mouth forms a backbiting smile, the kind of smile you plaster on your face when you want someone to know that you're privy and agitated. She spins on the ball of her foot, her hair swinging over her shoulder before she slaps the aluminum door open and stomps through the vestibule like a petulant brat.

You giggle in disbelief, your hand clamping over your mouth before you turn to Harry with a confused frown carved into your forehead, "what just happened? Did I do something wrong? Are you in trouble now?"

Harry closes his eyes and sighs as he attempts to balance the two emotions zipping through his nerve endings; the aphrodisia in his veins and the chill in his bones. He leans forward blindly to press his nose and mouth against your forehead, soothing the worried wrinkles there with a soft kiss, "I told her I was gay."

You burst out laughing and smack his shoulder, "you what? Why?" You can feel a smile spreading across his lips against your skin before he aligns your mouths together for another kiss, a shrinking moan leaving both of your throats and meeting behind your teeth. You're temporarily distracted by the work of his tongue which seems to be enhancing with time and the more acquainted you become with each other, the tip of it sweeping against yours so delicately that it sends sparks straight to your core and your toes.

Harry is surprised to see you out of breath and flushed when he pulls away and he wonders if he appears the same, if you can feel his fingertips trembling against your cheeks and the back of your neck. Lust is swimming in his stomach and urging his thickness to throb, his head falling forward for a long inhale to thwart the flow of blood to his center so that he isn't stuck walking around with his prone cock pressing into the fly of his jeans.