Twenty Five [The Pineapple]

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He tightens his grip across your torso before brushing your sweaty hair from your forehead to rest his mouth against your temple. It's apparent that you're also too warm curled up in Harry's arms but he appreciates that even in your sleep, you are loyal in your conviction to comfort him even if it means a bit of malaise. The pattern in your breathing shifts before you draw in a gust of air and moan, your toes coming to life to rub circles against his feet. Harry's smile grows wider before he gnaws on his bottom lip to contain it, his body scooting a few centimeters closer to maximize intimacy as he smushes his chin on your shoulder to rasp into your ear, "s'nice to have you back again."

Your stomach flips at his mindful and affectionate remark, your skin tingling in the spots where he draws soft circles with his middle finger into your stomach and your hip. His morning voice reminds you of the most satisfying croak, like a gardening shovel plunging through pumice or burying both of your hands into an endless bucket of smooth, polished sea glass. It's the most precious experience to see him open up and expose the shiny fruit that was trapped inside of his ripe and leathery skin; like paring back a rotten banana peel only to discover the innards are perfectly intact and begging to be devoured.

Harry's palm smooths up your stomach and through the valley of your cleavage, up your chest and neck before tilting your head over your shoulder towards him. His skin is luminous and his eyes glow like a hungry wolf at night, all signs of exhaust erased from his face and newly relaxed muscles. He props himself up on his elbow and seals his mouth around your bottom lip, humming at the sensation that he'd missed in the hours of unconsciousness. You roll onto your back and draw him on top of you with your arms and legs, his hand reaching behind him to pull the sheets up over his back to shield you from the morning light reflecting off of the inches of snow on your balcony.

"Are you just gonna be outrageously sexy all the time now?" He breathes a laugh against your mouth and ticks your head up with the tip of his nose, his tongue pressing against your neck before his lips wrap around your dilated tendon to suck gently. A feeble moan snakes out when his teeth scrape over your skin as he finds a new spot to explore in the dip of your collarbone, "mmm... not that I'm complaining." He can feel the blood rushing quickly through your veins and inciting your pulse to throb, his nose tracing over the point first before his mouth latches to the tender skin to suck again. His fingertips trace a line until they land on your surging chest, his digits enveloping your breast before squeezing gently, "Harry... mmm, Jesus. Good morning, baby. I missed you too. Look at me for a second, please?"

Harry pries his mouth away from your neck to set his sight on your face, a cool draft of air gushing against the spot on your neck that he's left damp. It's almost as if his skin has burnished a shade or two brighter, not necessarily darker or lighter but simply more sunny. The snow-addled sunshine that cuts through the haze of clouds lightens his eyes to a perfect shade of key lime sorbet, rimmed with a flirtatious ring of emerald around the outside of his iris, his pupils small and healthy, the whites of his eyes a dazzling ivory. There is no hint of dark fatigue below his bottom row of lashes, his mouth is supple and dewy, his hair a dark cascading lion's mane that perfectly suits his heart-stopping bone structure.

"You are stunning," you shake your head in disbelief, "you're like, the king of the jungle meets a renaissance oil painting." He laughs loudly in response and drops his face back into the safety in your neck, both embarrassed and flattered by your honest observation. Blood disperses to his cheeks and his center, his length pressing itself against your thigh as he nuzzles into your body for warmth and alleviation. "I'm sorry but it's true," you're not actually sorry, "I'm honored that you're in my bed right now."

Harry lifts his head again to lock eyes on you, his face dropping a bit closer to prepare to divulge information. You're learning that he likes to be as physically close as possible when he's confidential, as if his words were being deposited directly into your mouth for storage and he is worried about others overhearing something that is meant for you and only you.

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