Kismet

Eighteen [The Record]

He shrugs and glances over your shoulder to watch the elevator doors sliding shut behind you, his finger hooking into his lip and tugging on it, "twenty first."

His words suck back into his lungs when you take one step in front of the other with your sight glued to his, pausing your strut when you're just close enough that he can see those undefinable flecks in your eyes, "race ya?" Your head tilts in a secret request for a kiss, your hand lifting to curl your index finger between your chests to lure him closer. Harry drops forward and inhales your soft breath, his hair falling to frame his temples and tickle his eyelashes, his mouth brushing yours so slowly that he can feel his bottom lip get caught and drag before surrendering. He closes his eyes and the instant he puckers to lock your lips together, your body heat is removed from his all at once and the smack of the cylindrical lock on the stairwell door is vibrating his eardrums.

Your shriek echoes off of the narrow hallway with impossibly high ceilings, your fingertips curling around the railing to propel you faster up the steps as Harry's sneakers squeak against the waterproof rubber flooring covering the stairs. He swipes for your ankles twice but falls short each instance, deciding that it is probably a better idea to not pull your legs out from underneath you anyway. You can hear his heavy breathing a few steps behind you as you pass the fourth and fifth floors, the lactic acid in your muscles building up to slow you down and pinch a cramp into your right side.

You shout some sort of empty threat over your shoulder on the tail end of an exhausted breath, a burst of energy pushing Harry to skip every other step until he reaches the landing at the same time as you and hooks one arm around your waist to tug you back towards him. Something between a cackle and a shout explodes from your chest and it causes his guts to shatter in admiration as he spins you towards him and seals your lips together before you have a moment to comprehend what's happening.

Your insides liquify into batter and flip like a pancake when your chests and stomachs press up against one another, his fingertips disappearing into your hair while his thumb gently strokes your cheek. He allows you space to pant out a couple breaths in between kisses, a strong sensation of tightening seems to restrict all of his blood vessels and cut off oxygen to his brain. You suck on his bottom lip, the plump and soft skin so delicate that you have a strong urge to bite but you restrain yourself, "not fair."

He wants to drop the helmet tucked under his arm for a better grip on you, your words barely cutting through the fog of his mind as he allows them to mill for a second, "what's not fair?"

Your nose wrinkles up across the bridge with a mushy smile to match that makes his heart ache, "you caught me way too easily. You practice every day and your legs are the longest ever, you're basically a giraffe or like... a flamingo but not as flamboyant. Maybe a daddy long legs. Plus you're a boxer, you're a professionally trained breather. I feel like I need an oxygen tank now."

He swipes the tip of his nose against yours when you finish your little speech, his teeth gnawing on his bottom lip before he breathes out a laugh, "seem to have plenty of oxygen to make fun of my legs."

"I wasn't making fun!" Your palms press against his chest to hold him far enough away that you can make out his entire pouty expression, "that was supposed to be fond. Less like 'wow, cool legs, weirdo' and more like 'let's trade legs because they're enviable'." You'd like to add that his thighs look sturdy enough to carry you the rest of the way but you're afraid of scaring him off, instead cupping his cheeks and pulling him back for another kiss, "mmm... better now? Are we there yet? I'm tired."

Harry checks the number above the door which indicates the floor they're on, his head shaking and his lips puckering to impart sympathy, "five more." You whine and pout, his mouth slowly pulling into a smile before he bursts into a peal of ringing laughter, his lips shiny from exercise and the square edges of his teeth teetering a hint of endearment over the precipice, "come on then, you've burnt yourself out."