Inclination

Oasis, Optimistic Objects, Obedience

Harry's entire body is a thunderous heartbeat; he wants to grab your face and turn it back towards him, kiss you and suck on your tongue, nibble a red spot into your jaw and press his thumb against your center, asking you to tell him what to do and how much pressure to use, how deep to sink his fingers and when to stop. He would do anything you asked to make you feel good, but now is not the right time.

He cups your jaw and presses his lips against your cheekbone, humming at the feeling of your soft skin against his mouth before sliding his hand down to land on your belly. Your shoulders shudder at the feeling of his widespread palm, his pinky and his thumb nearly spanning the entirety of your stomach before he presses his fingertips gently into your skin.

His voice breaks through a handful of pebbles, "pretty." You turn your head to face him, smiling at his considerate handling and sighing through your nose at the level of comfort you feel with him. You roll back onto your side to face him, nuzzling comfortably against him and propping your cheek on his same pillow. He pants at your proximity and tosses one arm over your hip, "this was all I wanted last night."

You close your eyes to allow yourself a minute to gather your thoughts, "better late than never." You can't find it within yourself to admit that you cried the entire car ride home thinking about Harry's dick in someone else's mouth, possibly moaning their name or sweating with his head thrown back in pleasure, his hands tangled into someone else's hair and his eyes pinched shut. If you had found it within yourself to admit it however, Harry might have told you that he was imagining it was your mouth instead.

He shakes his head and licks his lips, "you're right," his digs his fingers into your ribcage as a threat to tickle you and you're screeching, squeezing your legs around his hips and flipping both of your bodies so that you're straddling his waist and pinning his wrists to the bed above his head.

His mouth is dropped open in shock and his pupils dilated with lust; he had no expectation of you reacting so playfully to a simple dig but now his cock is starting to stir and he's wondering where this sensation was two days ago with his fuck buddy. There's a second of shared silence before you're leaning close and narrowing your eyes at him, "no tickling, unless you don't mind being compromised," and he takes note of that for future reference.

He overpowers you and tosses you into his mattress and fluffy clean sheets, his knees staking your hips to his bed and his fingers weaving through yours beside your shoulders. He's reminded of his earlier thought of how he handles his flirtation with you like a child; playing, poking and teasing. But right now you're making his hangover crumble and doing that thing that you do so well where you spin a shitty mood into a good one, like someone gathering invisible strands of sugar onto a paper cone until they've formed a thick, pink cloud of cotton candy.

You bend your knees and try to kick his butt and his back but the angle is all wrong and he starts cackling at your determined expression mixed with your failed attempts. You burst out laughing and push your hands against his; your strength is no match for his and now you're starting to feel trapped, "Harry! I'm suffocating! Fuck the fuck off!"

He reaches down to tickle you again and you start whining and squealing, your body recoiling and flailing. You manage to wriggle a hand loose and when he sees it coming for his crotch, he jumps away and covers his center with his hands, "done, done! Done. I'm done. Promise."

Your middle finger appears in his face, smashing his nose down and he does the same to you except he pretends to stick his fingertip up your nostril and you scream before swatting him away. He laughs loudly and scratches his nose with his knuckle, "glad to have you back, Ace. I need a shower, but then what's on the agenda?"

You roll off the edge of the bed and dig into your purse before pulling two objects out and hiding them behind your back. You circle around the foot of the bed frame to stand before him, your thighs pressing up against his knees, "guess."

He runs his fingers through his hair and yawns, covering his mouth with his fist before allowing it to drop to his lap, "I dunno, something stupid?" You laugh and punch his arm lightly; he winces and whines, complaining you're making his hangover worse and rubbing his eye sleepily, "I give up."

Your hands present themselves in front of his face, your fists opening slowly one at a time to reveal first, a bottle of black nail polish and second, a Foreigner cassette tape. His smile peels slowly before eventually growing so large that it forms crinkles in the corners of his eyes and then a dimple in his left cheek, "fuck yes."

.

Harry's better than you thought he would be at applying nail polish. You're both sitting in opposite ends of the couch, your legs entangled and your heel pressed into his firm thigh as he runs the tiny brush over your toenails, his eyes narrowed in concentration and his tongue bitten between his teeth.

"Okay," the folded crossword puzzle is hovering above your face, effectively blocking the view at the other side of the couch, "obedient, six letters."

He hums and puckers his lips to form an "o" as cool air blows against your toes to dry the polish, "hmm... docile?" You count the boxes in your mind and roll your eyes, muttering a wry complaint about how he's good at everything.

You pull the paper away from your face to let the sight in front of you absorb; Harry's curls falling around his eyes and his jaw, his obscenely pink lips alternating between blowing on your feet or being bitten as he attempts to focus.

"Ask like a dog, three letters." His eyes glance up to yours and you notice his cheeks dotting roseate. He laughs lightly when you two continue to stare at each other in tense silence, "don't make me say it."

You write 'beg' in the three boxes before raising an eyebrow at him, "okay, I see how it is. Flying hero, three letters." He watches you nibble on the end of your pencil and when he recognizes genuine bewilderment on your face, he tosses his head back in laughter.

You start to feel flustered, "what?" He shakes his head and tickles the bottom of your feet. You kick his shoulder playfully and whine, "stop, for fuck's sake. Just tell me the answer."

He gestures for you to switch feet as he starts painting your big toe, "come on then. You can do it. Think." You're distracted by how flawless he looks with his shirt unbuttoned far below the twin swallows and your moonstone ring stuffed onto his pinky and pressing against your skin. He puffs another soft breath against your toe and this time it radiates up your leg to your core. You squirm from the sensation as he rubs his smooth palm up your calf, looking up to lock eyes with you, "ace."

You frown, "what?" He smiles and tugs on your smallest toe, "flying hero, three letters. The answer is ace."

Happy Sunday everybody! Please vote, talk to me, all that fun stuff. Hope you're enjoying it.
Xxx Birdie