Harry nods his head downward a single tick to indicate his agreement to your plight, his lips sealing over yours with a timid kiss and suction of your bottom lip. You taste like heaven and freedom and peace, like soft serve ice cream on a sultry island or the wall of pressure from the breeze when you stick your hand out of a moving car, the night sky covered up with clouds as you tilt your head back to collect snowflakes on your tongue. He missed it, he missed you so much and it's oozing out of him, "mm missed you," he pauses in between your peckish meetings to mumble sincerities, "missed you. I need you. Please-," and in a rare moment of explicit vulnerability, "don't leave me."
He gasps when you sink your teeth into his bottom lip, each hair on his limbs standing on end and signaling a surge of incitement to his center. You shake your head and breathe against his mouth, "I'm not. Don't ever walk away from me in a cold, dark alleyway muttering bullshit out of jealousy again." The air crystallizes and tenses the moment the accusation leaves your mouth, Harry's surprise hanging in the air as he mulls the statement over in his mind. He perks a single eyebrow at your simplification and wonders if your observation is correct and if you truly believe that or if you're being cheeky to arise some playful hostility from him.
His fingers drag up your back before weaving through your hair and curling into a fist, a soft hiss sucking through your teeth as your head tilts back to expose the delicate skin of your neck and throat, "jealousy? More like shocked to find out that my girlfriend is a stripper." He grazes his teeth over your jaw and earlobe but doesn't clamp down, your core clinches at the tease and the confounding notion of whether or not he's intending to do torment or his earnest inexperience is making an appearance.
"Actually, I wasn't your girlfriend until one minute ago," he tugs on your hair gently and your response is to press your thigh against his rigid center, his hips rocking forward in reflection at the unexpected pressure. "What are you going to do with your new risqué girlfriend?"
Harry's never had a relationship or a partner to have an argument with, but he's well familiar with the term 'makeup sex' and the possibility of your first time together being just that as blood rushes through his veins like whitewater rapids and echoes in the empty cave of his ear canal. He whines into the meager gap between your mouths before you drop the flowers from your grasp to surge forward and crush your lips together, both of your stomachs tossing upon contact and your hands wandering in a frenzy to squeeze any skin they can reach.
Harry takes a single step forward before dropping his palms to engulf the roundest part of your ass and hoisting you into the air. Your legs wrap around his waist, the breath forcing itself from your lungs when your back meets the closest wall. It's shocking to see how voluntarily and easily he's lifted you and when you take a look at his yearning face, the shadows in his pupils extinguishing the sea foam green and stirring it with fire, your back arches away from the wall to roll your center against his, "fuck. Take me to my bedroom."
It's impossible to make out Harry's utterance as he doesn't spew any actual words but rather a string of incoherent sacrilege, the pads of his fingers burning like hot coals through the flimsy fabric of your shorts. You cup his jaw and tilt his head to press your mouths together again, a soft moan crackling through his adam's apple when his fingertips slip beneath the hem of your shorts to smooth against your bare skin. Your groans crash and heighten each time your tongues fold, the belt loops on his jeans pressing into your skin to leave pink indents on your inner thighs. He pulls back to scan your heavy gaze, his eyes darting down to watch the panting produce and demolish in your chest, his skin absorbing your pretty laugh when he peels you from the wall and stumbles his way through your embellished apartment.
He trips over one of your stray shoes and you throw your head back in laughter at his adorable expression of blunder, his mouth downturned into an exaggerated look of near disaster and his eyes as wide as saucers. Normally he would be embarrassed by his goof but it's as though his passion is outweighing every other emotion in his veins, his cock pressing painfully against the fly of his jeans and his feeble heart racing behind his breastbone as he navigates through the crowded living space with his literal dream girl clinging to his waist like a vixen.
You aren't sure what you expected to happen when you entered your bedroom, but a gasp rips from your chest when Harry falls into bed on top of you with the bulky thunk of his discarded boots hitting the ground one after the other. He wraps a single arm around your waist and hoists you farther up the bed as he scoots along with you, his mouth dropping to attach to your neck and suck harshly to break the blood vessels at the surface. The little salacious noises you make rush every drop of blood from his brain to his pelvis and thighs, his stomach tensing when your palms glaze under his sweatshirt before pulling it up and over his head. He fumbles it from your fingers and tosses it across the room, gripping the back of his t-shirt by the neck to rip it off and add it to the collection on the floor.
He swallows your moan when he returns for a kiss, his hips are rolling into your center with slow rhythmic pitches forward as you claw at your sweater, your fingers untangling the knot in your belt to slide the cardigan from your shoulders. Time slows down when your palms fuse to the skin of his bare, heated stomach and glide upwards over each ridge of muscle and spot of ink, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip before absolving into a steamy grin, "you are so, so crazy hot." Air hisses through his teeth when you curl your fingers and retreat back down towards his belt, his skin blistering red in your fingernails' wake.
Harry's length pulsates in acknowledgment and compels the haste in his fingertips, "Nova... you are the most beautiful person I've ever seen." He cinches either side of your sweater and pulls them apart from each other to divulge your entire torso, mostly shorn aside from a gauzy, mauve pink bralette that offsets your skin tone. His sight bounces from your collarbone to your bellybutton to your tits and the curve of your hips before locking in on your face, "I can't believe this is happening."
You sit up and press your index finger to his pillowy, raspberry stained lips as a signal for him to pause his astonished blubbering. A grunt of relief passes through his teeth when the pressure on his groin is alleviated with the flick of a button and the drag of a zipper, "I know. And to think I wanted to smack some sense into you an hour ago." He opens his mouth to speak but you silence him with a kiss and a dizzying caress of your tongue, his hands dropping to slip into the elastic of your shorts and drag them to your ankles, "tell me you're sorry again."
You kick your shorts from your feet and push his jeans to his knees, allowing him to discard them the rest of the way before he drops to his seat and pulls you onto his lap, "nov?" You hum and readjust to align your centers and rest your full weight on his cock. Your tummy flips when he whines and ruts against your humidity, his breath leaving his parted lips in eager shudders, "I'm so sorry. I'll never hurt you again. I'll never, ever, ever be a walking piece of shit to you again. I swear it." He yelps when you swipe your thumb over his nipple and pinch, his mouth falling open to increase his air flow, "w-want me?" Saying those words out loud to you has his cock blurting a pill or two of precome into the fabric of his briefs, the damp spot making itself heard as he continues to rock into your center.
You hiss and cry out quietly each time his tip taps against your swollen knot, "yes. So badly, I'm soaking." His scalp prickles at your blunt admission as he mumbles a soft 'me too' against your jaw and takes it upon himself to lower a shaky and frantic hand to your center, his fingertips brushing over the crotch of your panties and his stomach sizzling when you moan and drop your head back for a deep breath of air as you roll your hungry hips against his palm.
He pushes your underwear aside just enough to expose your heat to a cool huff of air, the contrasting sensation suddenly erased when the pads of his fingers sweep over your saturated core. Harry's shoulders shiver as the sensation racks his spinal column, his imagination running rampant at the feeling of your silken folds drenched in excitement for him. He's bursting to know what your wet muscles would feel like sucking and drawing him in, hugging every ridge and vein of his length and egging his release on from the deepest pit of his belly. You're so turned on that all you can imagine is how satisfying it would feel to have his digits burying inside of you to the knuckle, the light tease of his wavering fingertips building you up with a hesitant, provoking technique that he isn't even aware of as he strokes your entirety with his thumb without ever dipping inside of you.
He alternates between rubbing your swell with his index and pointer fingers, rotating his wrist to brush your folds, the pads of his fingers just barely pushing past your threshold before returning back to your sensitivity. Your toes curl as you grow antsy and work your core against his hand in an effort to swallow his fingers, "baby..." Your head picks up to lock gazes with him just before pinching your eyes shut and dropping your forehead to his, "hold your thumb on my clit-" He rubs figure eights until he knows he's found it by the way you whine a hot affirmative breath against his cheek, his digit pausing to put pressure on your slick knot as you asked.
Harry is panting and moaning with as much fervor as you exhibit from simply watching you, the head of his cock threatening to push up past the elastic of his underwear as everything inside of him begins to tingle with a woven web of greed and thirst. You manage to choke out a, "rub little circles- yes," he would do anything to please you, "yes, oh fuck, baby- you're gonna make me come." Harry curses as the web inside of him squeezes tighter and threatens to snap, his thumb repeats and repeats until your legs are shaking and your core is beginning to seize upon itself, slow and quaking pulses that signal the build up to your eventual calamity. Your head shifts back and when it feels like you can't take anymore of his painstaking teasing, you're bringing your face back to him and swallowing the dried embers in your throat, "go down, dreamy?"
His eyelids are so heavy that they've narrowed into slits, both darkening and mollifying the wreckage of his lust. His skin glistens with sweat and fine curled tendrils stick to his forehead and his cheeks, his mouth split just enough for trembling pants to escape. His nostrils flare as he sucks in a deep breath, his gaze dropping to your tits before he pulls his hand away from your center and unbinds the clasp located in your cleavage to free you, his palm absorbing your bare breast in a fiery grasp. Your wetness spreads from his fingertips to streak your chest, his mouth lowering to suck your nipple between his lips and nibble gently. His ears tingle when the sweet, delicate chime of a moan chirps from your throat, his tongue extending flat to travel to your chest and lap up your gloss of excitement.
"Oh god... please?" You push on his shoulders and he obeys without a hiccup, his hair tickling your torso as he lays you down and retreats towards your center, the ends of his fingers crawling a path down your sides as he traces your trail of bristle with the tip of his nose. He glances up at your face before eyeing your center, his mouth filling with saliva in anticipation and his movements urged forward when you whine into the balmy air of your bedroom and beg him again to please you. He extends his tongue as far out as it will go, licking ribbon after ribbon into your integrity. He hums a thoughtful buzz at the taste that he's envisioned for years, the rapid beating of his heart never having ceased from when he knocked on your door just a short while ago and he hopes it never does.
"Say it again." Your words quiver out through bold panting, "say that you'll never hurt me again. Say it and mean it." Harry pauses his movement to find your desirous gaze laced heavily with another emotion that he can't place, and it's then that he realizes for the first time that your pain is palpable to him - not just the pain that he inflicted but all of the wrongdoings in your past, all of the accumulated torture you've gone through in your life without his knowledge. He understands now that he thought he knew you but he doesn't, he blueprinted a fantasy onto an innocent stranger and although he believes you are perfect molecules derived from the same cosmic cluster, you still have secrets to reveal to him in your own time and he is finally okay with that information.
You dig your fingers into his hair and pull, an acute moan sneaking out through the crevice of his lips as he pinches his eyes shut, his hips pressing into the mattress in rattled pulses in response to your rough handling. He knows you're going to get hurt because everyone in his life does, but he promises you anyway because he can't bear to see you suffer, a muttered cyclone of unintelligible apologies and promises, "sweet nova, I'll never be the one to hurt you. Never let you fall apart, I'll do everything in my power to make you feel appreciated. I'll take such good care of you - hold you while you're sleeping and kiss you when you wake up and remind you how bloody gorgeous and brilliant you are. Kiss your feet and the ground you walk on. Please. Please forgive me." He wants to tell you that he loves you and that you mean more than everything to him but he can't, not yet at least.
His skin prickles when you whimper and nod another misplaced apology to him for bridling the truth about your job, but he simply shakes his head and digs his fingertips into your thighs before dipping back down to taste you again. He brings you to the edge again and again before pausing to pant against your folds each time, halting at the very last second before you tip over to sit back on his haunches and watch in curiosity as you whine and try to control the vibration in your legs. He's not so sure what he's doing, but he knows where you're most sensitive and he knows that girls like to be teased, choosing to move meticulously in order to hear each one of your soft moans and heavy breaths.
You can't tell if he is acting intentionally or if it's a bit of nervousness peeking through when he backs off, but your limbs are shaking so badly that you feel the need to push him away and roll over on to your side to moan pathetically into the heated space of your bedroom. He crawls up behind you and throws his arm across your tummy to drag your body tight against his chest and stomach, his thickness pressing into your ass as he tiptoes his fingertips down your stomach to cup your center, "I want you. Want to make you feel so good, please novs." He rolls his hips and you can feel the wet stroke of precome against your back, your head taking on a life of its own and your voice stolen as you nod in enthusiasm and mumble some semblance of encouragement.
You roll onto your back and cup his face, sealing your lips and tongues together as he climbs on top of you and settles between your legs. You groan at the comfort of his weight and the feeling of his head pushing against your core, your heartbeat ceasing when you find his eyes pouring every ounce of thrill and tremor into your soul. You kick your legs up around his waist to lock him in place, crossing your ankles and resting your heels on the small of his back. You reach down to wrap your fist around him and pump in quick upward sweeps, your thumb swiping over his slit to spread his fever, "take me, honey. I can't wait anymore."
Harry studies your face before slipping his eyes closed to commit this moment to memory, his breath shaky as he peels his eyelids open once again and aligns his head with your entrance. His ferocious hair is a gorgeous chocolate waterfall framing his chiseled cheekbones and jawline, his sharp and feral eyes appearing even more intimidating with deep lines of concentration folding between his eyebrows. He leans down to kiss you, a salacious moan ripping from his throat when he rolls his hips forward just enough to bury his tip inside of your heat.
Your eye contact doesn't falter as you tilt your pelvis towards him in an unspoken request for more, his hands cupping your cheeks and tangling into your hair as he pushes the rest of his way forward, his jaw falling open more and more with each swallowed inch onward. When he sinks in there's a moment of shaking breaths and you both puff out a quiet laugh that's more like a silent film of a swan flapping it's wings in slow motion to prepare for effortless flight from a pond.
You lick your lips and squeeze your legs around his waist as if mirroring the snugness in your core, your eyes shimmering with sincere satisfaction when words crack through a smile, "mm, perfect fit, baby. Fuck-" your breath hitches as you toss your head back and he's never seen you at a loss for words or at a lack of control, your voice toppling as if it's dragged it's way from your heart and fell from exhaustion when it passed your lips, "making me feel so good already."
Harry has yet to clamp his mouth shut, the depths of his stomach tying into a bow and unlacing on repeat as he drops his forehead to your chest and sobs out something between a moan and a shameless cry. He slurs your name out before drawing back to look at you, his cock already thrumming at the indescribable impression of your femininity working to drain him without so much as either one of you moving. It's been a year or maybe a year and a half or- he has no fucking idea, but he hasn't felt the desire to sleep with anyone in a dangerously depressing amount of time and without even really considering it, he had accepted his sexuality as something that was dead and buried.
He pulls out and hangs his head forward as he groans and fusses, the innocently luscious sounds oozing from his mouth encourage you to hook your hands under his arms and behind his shoulders to pull him back, "no- don't stop. Please don't stop. You feel incredible-"
His moan is high-pitched and desperate when he locks your lips together in a determined kiss that has your core clinching and your toes curling against his back. His length is soaked in your juices and exceptionally rock hard as he adjusts himself with your heat again, "I've no words. You're-" He laughs both in embarrassment and disbelief, "I'm about to come in two seconds or less."
He hisses when your nails drag up the whole of his back before burying into his hair to scratch against his scalp, your voice a heated, quiet growl when you speak against his lips, "you better fuck me like you mean it then."
His eyes dart back and forth between yours in awe of your dirty demand, his tongue slinking out to wet his lips before his pupils blossom like a drop of blood in water. His fingers pinch your hips before he draws in a lofty suck of air, his pelvis rolling forward in a long, smooth drag to plunge inside of you completely and pausing when he's buried to your limit. Your loud moan perks his ear and excels him on as he pulls back before fucking into you in full, profound sweeps.
If he were aware enough he would be able to feel his heart beating in rapid twos with the beat of a pause in between, his body screaming your name as little beads of sweat pill on his temples and chin before dropping off to cool your heated skin. Through his frenzy he can just make out the scent of your shampoo that has both haunted and destroyed him these past two weeks in your absence, but the smell of your sweat and fluids colliding is too overwhelming to process anything more. He can feel his orgasm tingling it's unwanted appearance in his tightened, sensitive skin where his tailbone fades away and the vividly sexy moans that you expel on each thrust forward is not helping him stave his arousal a single bit.
Harry cups the back of your neck and brings your mouths together again as he rolls into the sheets and flips you on top, your legs intuitively wrapping around his waist when he sits up and perches you in his lap for supreme penetration. He thinks that maybe if you can control your own movements that you can bring yourself to the precipice faster, but he hopes that you don't ride him so well that he ends up blowing it before you've even begun. You cry out and push your hair from your face but Harry could give a fuck less about the wild mess sticking to his cheeks and tacky lips as he supports your lower back and pushes his hips to rock up into you.
The sheets are tucked and folded around your tangled legs, your stray pieces of clothing and underwear strewn about with the pillows and blankets to paint your bed as an accurate portrayal of your perfectly messy lovemaking and relationship thus far. When you feel Harry's thickness pumping inside of you to signal his impending end, you grip his shoulders to take control of your own flow and lift your hips up only to return with a circular drop back down. His quivering hands reach to slip into your hair and hold your head close, your noses and lips bumping as your strained and laden breaths clap and mix in the gap between your mouths.
Harry's nostrils tick and you mewl loudly in disappointment when his eyelids tumble closed and he cries against your lips in a frantic slurry, "oh god- oh god- I'm sorry baby you feel too fucking good, I can't hold on, I can't, I'm gonna come, fuck. Fuck!"
Just hearing him unexpectedly call you 'baby' has your core clamping down tightly, your velocity faltering for a moment before you bring your fingers to your swell to rub circles in an attempt to reach your high at the same time as him. You're distracted by the sight inches in front of you though, your fingers and hips slowing as your mouth falls open to watch as Harry fucks into you with an expression of complete forfeit. He tries to keep his focus on you but it gets sucked out from underneath him by a crushing riptide, his head falling back when his release grapples each one of his limbs and his delicate brain with electricity that approaches with the force of a summertime lightning bolt. His vision fades black before erupting in neon green and blue static, his fingertips sparking and sizzling as he reaches for any part of you that he can grab. His stomach, his thighs, his groin all blister with the spark of a match and the subsequent burst of flame as the fire makes its way down the length of his body.
You coax him on with a soft circuit of 'yes, yes, yes', his throat bobbing as he swallows over and over for some aura of moisture in his raw throat. His chest and stomach tighten with quickened breath, his nipples pert and kindled, his chestnut saltwater waves and heavy brow mixed with a supple and shockingly pink pout paint him as androgynously sexy as he peaks with three soft whimpers that crest into a slow crawl of a voluminous, heated whine. Sweat glistens and shines across his collarbones and neck, his hips rocking upward in enduring, dazed sweeps as his fingertips wrench into the skin of your ass to pull you against him again and again like a moth to flame.
The sight of him purely blissed out and reaching what seems like an incomparable high has your release teetering at the edge as you cup his cheeks and pull him back to you, "don't stop, don't stop, stay with me." You fuck yourself on his still rigid cock and moan out in appreciation when his delirium fades just enough to bring his fingers to the same spot that had your legs shaking earlier, his thumb landing on it to coil your sensitivity until you snap. A fervid climb and an equally intoxicating but depleting descent, your pleasure shared and made known through the tightening and releasing of your inner muscles. Harry shouts out at the evidence of your pleasure as his head drops forward and rests on your shoulder, allowing you to use him however you need as you ride out your high with a hundred praises and nicknames for the incredible person who's opened himself to you.
He thought that he had felt he was a part of you before you'd even met but it doesn't compare to how he feels now, as if he'd been missing bones and muscle and tissue this entire time and they've suddenly grown to make him whole at last. It's indescribable, it's visceral nostalgia for a home that he'd never even step foot in before, it's love in its purest, rawest form. It's kismet.
.
"You called me 'baby'.
Harry's head is resting in the bent crook of his arm as he keeps his sight glued to the string lights decorating your ceiling; they resemble twinkling stars millions of lightyears away and he loves how you've replaced the real thing with a substitute, as if you also miss the shimmering night sky just as much as he does. So much so that you felt the need to have a re-creation above you as you sleep, the soft glow of their otherworldly nature gently lulling you into ease and safety. His fingers are softly combing through your hair as you lay with your cheek pressed into the nook where his shoulder folds into his chest, your legs knotted together as his toes brush the bottoms of your feet. He pauses his amorous movements for a second as he contemplates before resuming again, "I did? When?"
You giggle and trace the tip of your finger over the apex of a leaf tattooed on his hip, "when you came."
His eyes open wide before settling back to their typical size, his smile pulling open into his cheeks as his dimple joyfully greets you, "oh. Wow, what else did I say? The national anthem? Bible verses?"
It's glorious to see his dry sense of humor cracking through his hardened and timid surface as his roots push through to open up the ground work and make him appear more visible, both the sunshine and the rain forcing him to grow before your eyes, "nope. Just the recipe for homemade fudge brownies and the score of last night's football game." A loud, childlike cackle vibrates his chest below your cheek and bounces off of each one of your walls, the first laugh that you've heard from him that exhibits total freedom and pure self-abandonment and it's heart-meltingly gorgeous. It somehow both perfectly matches and opposes his personality; his eyebrows pulled up, his teeth and eyes shining with the moonlight overhead, his hand landing on his belly as if to quell the steep reaction.
His palm cups your cheek and when you draw your attention to his face, his teeth are bitten into his bottom lip as he smiles at you and hums at your messy hair and the sight of your figure wrapped up in your sheets just as he loved to imagine so many times before. It's a thousand times better displayed in person than living statically in his mind and he's overcome with a devastating need to cherish you to the best of his ability. You stretch forward and indulge him in a kiss, your fingers running through his hair to brush it away from his face before you pull away to regard him with a tender, relaxed smile.
You lift his hand away from your mattress to inspect the bandage woven in a loop around his knuckles and palm, flipping his hand over to see the extent of his hasty medical work before pulling back to his gaze that is already set on you, "is this from boxing?" You ask the hopeful question but you already know the answer is going to upset you, your fingertips blindly brushing over a spot where a patch of blood has begun to seep through the compress.
He shakes his head and his first instinct is to pull his hand away to avoid further questioning, but he doesn't. You sense the twitch in his fingers and can see the instantaneous thought process bloom and shrink in his irises like a time lapsed video of a flower decomposing, your heart pumping harshly once in anticipation before he curls his fingers around yours and drops both of your joined hands back to his warm stomach, "no. I was at home." He feels stupid divulging more, like a shamed caveman who knows that he lost his temper and was too virile to reel in his emotions. He also senses that it will make you uncomfortable or perhaps guilty to be the catalyst for his unattractive outburst, but he also knows that you're intelligent and intuitive enough to already have that hunch.
"That's pretty violent," he nods and draws his sight away from you in embarrassment. He wishes that he'd had someone to process his emotions with all this time, to help him heal the wound of his life being sliced open with a jagged knife when he was a teenager. Instead he was forced to sew everything back together on his own with novice tools; rusty scissors, dental floss and some rubbing alcohol. It burned and it was messy, it got infected and the damage reopened constantly, it will probably never regenerate properly and he's covered in scars but at least he has stopped gushing blood. A cut that deep was never meant to heal without a scar anyway. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to disgrace you. What's done is done. I'm sorry that I deceived you. I'm sorry you were so deeply angered and upset that it was unmanageable, that it bubbled over and forced its way out of your fingertips. I know that the way I make money is difficult to be comfortable with, so thank you for accepting it. You deserve some alleviation from all of this pain. I'm impressed that you've come along this far, Harry. I really am. You should be too."
He hears you but is also determined to make an effort to steer conversation away from him and back to you, to highlight your importance and relevance, to make you feel as prioritized as you deserve. He points to your knee in an attempt to alleviate the conversation, "see? This is why we should never fight. We're a bloody mess." One corner of his mouth perks into a smile before shrinking away, his head shaking as he sighs, "s'all my fault. You wouldn't have fallen if you didn't have to chase after me and I chose to put my fist through my wall." He presses his palms to his face and sighs before slipping them down just far enough to expose his eyes, "god, I'm so sorry."
"Stop," he shakes his head again at your command but you prop yourself up on your elbow and hover over him, "you can't change the past. Please don't 'should' or 'what if', it's not healthy."
Harry rolls onto his side and tangles his fingers into your hair before pushing you back down into the sheets, his mouth close and his eyes locked on yours, "let me handle that responsibility and move past it. You're so sweet to not want me to feel any more miserable than I am, but I need to be held accountable. My actions aren't excused because of a difficult past and a threatening present. I have to treat you right. I have to." He has to because you mean more than the entire universe to him, he has to because he is certain that you were meant to find one another to change your lives for the better but he knows better than to scare you with that information.
He had always assumed until his series of revelations a few days ago that you were meant to be a savior of sorts, but it has become vibrantly clear that you are equals. You are both cast aside by society, by birth or otherwise and you're both striving for internal and external harmony. You share comparable levels of loathing towards the government and those who blindly accept the Emissary's fascist rule. Your misery is much more difficult to pick up on due to your outward optimism and natural instinct to nourish and balance, but he is starting to see the loneliness in your eyes and taste it on your tongue. You too have been bruised, you too have been dishonored. You too have been forced underground. Now you will either steer one another to dock safely or guide the vessel to shipwreck, but either way the journey will be tragically unforgettable.
You bite your bottom lip into your mouth and smile with the hint of tears shimmering in your eyes, "Goo."
His sigh transforms into a laugh as he drops his face into your neck and collarbone, "was that too intense?" It's a legitimate question; now that he's an iota more comfortable sharing his innermost thoughts that were never allowed to creep up past the surface before, he has no idea how much or how little to expose to another person. Aside from what he's seen in movies, but he knows that's not authentic.
"It was just right," he picks his head up and peers at you with flushed cheeks, his top teeth releasing his bottom lip before he presses your mouths together with a fleecy hum. His stomach flips at the sensation of your silky skin meeting, the feeling still clinging to a perception of novelty and he wonders if it will ever dull or fade over time. He knows that happens for most couples but he can't imagine ever being anything less than gratified and indulgent when kissing you.
He sucks your bottom lip delicately between his teeth before exchanging the gesture for one more soft embrace and backing off so slowly it's as if he's determining your taste like a fine wine. You pant against his mouth and study his folded features, "you make everything below my belly button clench up like a fist." He laughs but you just shake your head in determination, "you think I'm kidding? It happened just now because I thought about your recipe for brownies again."
The two of you share a heart-wrenching reverie in the comfort of your warm bed in your brightly colored, cluttered apartment that feels a lot like how Harry imagines the inside of your mind to look; saturated in affection and jumbled, pastel thoughts, illuminated by flickering candlelight and the burning gases from an array of stars and cosmic dust, with his fingertips and curls wrapped around the nooks and crannies.
You gather his large palm in both of your hands, your thumbs pressing into the acupressure spot just below his pinky to coax the heavy blanket of sleep upon him. His eyelids fall midway and he fights to keep them open, his body woven into your arms and legs as he cuddles you like he's gotten into the habit of doing except this time he's so relaxed and sleepy, so so sleepy, so comfortable and soft and you're so loving and giving, your body like a sweet, spongey marshmallow bunny as he moans weakly in your ear and readjusts to grip you tighter. Your body melts into his and everything is just too cushy, safe, secure and velveteen to ignore as slumber takes over from the tips of his toes and across his brain like a thick haze, forcing his eyes shut and his body limp as he's pulled under without a conscious determination otherwise.
Hey guys! How about a little sexual healing?
Please vote and comment. You know I need you!
Much love
XX B