I wish Harry six months ago could meet the Harry that is currently flopped on the couch laying on his stomach with his head in my lap and his arms clung around my waist, while I rotate between stroking my fingers through his soft hair or tracing patters over his back.

I'm not sure how the Harry back then would feel about the one in front of me now, but the hopeful side of me likes to think it would make him happy - to see that he's in a place he never thought he would be in, with someone that loves him for exactly who he is - even if present Harry is still unaware of that fact yet.

The rest of my things came from my apartment yesterday, and while most of it was in boxes, my heart nearly ruptured in my chest when Harry urged me to unpack a few things and place them where I wanted.

He said he wanted it to feel like my apartment did, so he can come home and feel me even when I'm not there - have touches of myself and my presence warming his apartment.

He helped me hang my favourite paintings, and canvases of pictures I had, as well as helping me place my sentimental trinkets around the place.

He even put my cactus on the coffee table.

It's still a wonder to watch, how childlike he becomes in moments like those, and I know that little boy that hides inside him has been there the whole time, kept under lock and key, protected by his abrasive and callous behaviour until he found someone he trusted enough to let him out around.

"This actually kinda feels like a home now... I think, not entirely sure what that should feel like, but I think this is it" he had said thoughtfully earlier, staring around from his place on the couch.

"Well, it actually does feel like home" I had agreed, trying to reassure his feelings and I watched as his lips quirked at the corners and he stared at my cactus on the coffee table.

"Think anywhere would feel like a home with you there" he had said, sounding more like he was thinking out loud as apposed to talking to me.

I think the fact, Harry is just being honest but has no idea the weight or meaning his words would have, because it's so new to him, only makes them more heart constricting and soul warming, the fact it's so purely genuine.

"I think the same thing" I'd admitted, never having the natural way with words that he seems to "Think my home is with you"

This small confession of mine sparked that flare in Harrys eye and within seconds he was pouncing on me, pushing me back on the couch and crawling over me, kissing me with that much fever and emotion I was breathless in seconds, that same fire erupting between us that always stays lit as a small flame at all times, burning patiently waiting for these moments where it flares and explodes into a fire storm.

It was all heated messy lips, dancing tongues and mixing heavy breaths with our hands grasping over every inch of each other that we could.

I was surprised however when he didn't try to have sex, he wasn't being teasing like other times, just apparently had other plans and said he would finish it later, but refused to elaborate on what he meant.

He had a painfully obvious frustration that was pitched firmly in his pants, but he refused to let me do anything about it, however he pulled me on to his lap, moving his hand between us and feeling my own mess of a situation our heated kissing had caused.

I expected him to leave me like that, becoming use to the kick he gets out of working me up until I'm losing my mind before he relieves it.

I was surprised though, when he slowly teased my entrance with his ring and middle finger, before inching them in slowly, kissing me again and using his other hand to urge my hips to rock against his hand while his fingers moved to meet the grinding of my hips, curling his fingers to hit that delicious spot that had me trembling in minutes while he rotated between attacking my mouth with his own, then my neck until he moved his face back to watch my pleasured reactions on my own.

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