IX. The Fleetwood Mac Concert

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June 2019

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June 2019

"When did you get this one?"

Franki was tucked into Harry's side as she traced her fingers along the black ink etched into his golden skin. The dawn had just broken over the horizon on their final morning in Italy, bringing streams of sunlight and a faint breeze in through the open balcony doors. They were both sleepy eyed from the early hour, yet completely relaxed and full of rest.

The past week had been an absolute dream. Lazy mornings in bed. Walks down a gravel road to the town center for fresh produce and pastries. Late afternoons beside the villa's pool. Quiet evenings with just the two of them sipping wine under the stars. But sadly the real world was beckoning, making it known that their week would inevitably have to come to an end. Even still, they lingered, limbs tangled together in the midst of the soft sheets, determined to stay in bed until the very last second before they had to leave.

Harry lifted his head from the pillow just enough to glance down to where her fingers were touching his belly. 

"The butterfly?" His gravelly morning voice vibrated as he lifted his arm that wasn't wrapped around Franki to land underneath his head when he laid it back down.

"Mhmm," she hummed with a slight yawn.

His lips quirked to the side. "Think I was maybe nineteen..." he thought out loud. "Felt like quite the statement back then, putting a massive piece of ink in the center of my stomach."

A chill went down Franki's spine as she savored the feeling of his palm slipping under her t-shirt and running all the way up and then down her back. "I love it. It's definitely in my top five."

Harry snorted a laugh. "You have a top five of my tattoos?"

"Easily," she responded quickly before listing them off. "The butterfly. The mermaid. The palm tree. The tiger... for obvious reasons."

An amused chuckle shook Harry's chest and made Franki's head jostle slightly where it laid against him. "That's only four?"

Her lips curved into a devious smirk. "Right. Well, I'm fairly certain this one's my favorite..." She drew out her words, slowly tiptoeing her fingertips across his torso to the sensitive skin under his left arm and delicately ghosted them over his birdcage tattoo.

Her touch instantly forced a yelp from the back of his throat, bringing his arm flying down to his side in defense. His bicep pinned her hand flat against his side, forcing her to stop her movement. Franki couldn't help but giggle at her ability to debunk his self proclaimed 'I'm not ticklish' theory.

"You're mean," he huffed, settling his hand firmly on her bum and pulling her hip higher over his own.

"'M'not ticklish' he swears..." She mocked him with a grin, gladly embracing his advance and draping her leg over his thigh.

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