Kismet

Twenty Five [The Pineapple]

"I... I didn't dream. I - I mean," he lays his hand palm-down in the air and moves it slowly upon a flat, invisible plane to convey placidity, "nothing." He licks his lips and stares at your bewildered facial expression before glancing at the blanket of snow outside and choosing the route of metaphor to explain, "ever imagine what it might feel like to be inside of a space shuttle as it floats through outer space? Serene, tranquil, black... diamonds flickering everywhere you look but not a single one within reach." You nod and he goes on, "that's what it felt like to sleep... beside you. My mind - it was silent. It's never been that way before." His fingers toy with a lock of your hair, "like... like I was being pulled steadily into the gravity of the moon... glowing, swelling and growing. The whole night."

You think he is trying to communicate to you that what has happened to him last night is a life-changing, unparalleled event that he has you to thank for but perhaps he is only trying to tell you that it was a peculiar happenstance and nothing more. You cup his cheek and he nudges your palm in response, his eyes drooping closed before he wraps his fingers around your wrist and brings your hand to his mouth to deposit a lush kiss to your palm, "dunno what to fully make of it since it was just once... but I feel like I owe you gratitude for whatever it is you've done to me." His honor of course delves much deeper than you could ever imagine, but that's the most amount of information he is willing to give you right now.

You shake your head and brush his hair from his face, drawing him near to moan into a kiss and weaving your fingers into his locks to keep him close, "don't thank me." You glance over his face once more, his peachy cheeks and refreshed eyes, "you really look amazing. You're like a crystal that's just been polished, reflecting light and absorbing energy. I wanna be around you every single second and just soak it all up."

Harry's heart stutters at your endless validation, his head swimming with curiosity as to whether or not you could be the answer to his prayers like he has always had an inkling for; a shining lighthouse in the middle of a treacherous storm at sea, the one thing that could aide him into a healthy practice of restful sleep, a reason for him to keep fighting for freedom and for his life, a ticket to the single shred of normalcy he has been begging the universe for since his very first premonition. He knows that he is far from cured or healed but in comparison to the way he had been living his life a few months ago, he is ready to begin considering himself a completely different person, "me too... you make me feel extraordinary." If he is a crystal reflecting light, then you are surely the source of luminosity from which he feeds.

Harry aligns his leaking tip with your entrance and your stomach spins at his precocious advance, your eyes slipping shut as your back arches away from the mattress, "mhm... I want you."

His thumb drags your bottom lip before he dips to fold your mouths together, his cock sinking in inch by inch to allow himself to be fully consumed by your heat. He groans when your slick muscles throb around his length to adjust to his intrusion and as if begging him for relief, his hips pulling back and returning with the same languid pace. He stays completely sheathed and circles his pelvis against your sensitivity as he watches the expression on your face melt into a careless plea, the quiet leak of a moan urging his heart on with two claps and a pause in between. His fingers slip behind your head to angle your mouth for another kiss, his tongue massaging yours in the same dizzying pace as his hips as he makes love to you within the nest of your indulgent linens.

It's unlike before. It's just as passionate and pleasurable as last night if not more, but this time you are both emancipated from any feelings of deception or upset. Harry still has the cloud of satisfying sleep shrouding his brain like morning fog, his heart exploding in repetitive claps that are contradictory to the snoozy cadence of his hips. You roll your pelvis forward and rumble a moan when his crown rubs across the walnut inside of you, your fingernails digging into the small of his back as you coach him to continue working that spot.