You stand barefoot in grass that is just above ankle high, blossoming with clover and it's brilliantly vanilla and amethyst flowers that resemble cotton balls. Before you is a cornfield that begins in an unnaturally plumb frontier where the grass ends, the plants easily a head or two taller than you.
The stalks are sturdy and the leaves droop and point to the ground, husks of corn grow in diagonal lines outward from their centers and the silk from their tops looks soft and fringe-like. The tassels at the peak of each plant are nearly a foot tall and golden like wheat. Every time a gust of wind blows, the tassels blow in the same direction, starting from the right side of the seemingly never ending field and slowly undulating towards the left like a field of swaying dominoes.
All at once you draw in a deep breath and begin running with your hands in front of your face as you break through the barrier of the lanky plants, the sizable leaves and silken tops of the ears of corn brushing the skin of your bare arms.
The sway of plume above you sounds a lot like the continual crash of ocean waves mixed with the crinkling of tissue paper in one's fist and somewhere off in the distance you can make out the sound of wind chimes and the cheerful chirp of a swallow.
All you can see is hundreds of thousands of plants in never ending rows ahead of you. When you look to the side, the cool and shaded green of the stalks whiz by in a blur as you race forward. Above you are leaves and tufts and beyond that, a cloudless clear blue sky, the light of the sun omnipresent interspersed with a quick luster of blinding light that flashes through the vegetation.
You have no idea where you are or in which direction you are running, not an inkling of what time of day it is or what urged you to run head-first into a giant maze that would be seemingly impossible to emerge from.
Your bare feet sting and burn against the dirt and fallen, dried leaves and bits of hay adorning the ground. Somehow you don't feel frightened or worried about how or when you'll escape, you only want to follow the internal compulsion to plunge deeper into the unknown.
When you hear your name shouted from somewhere on the horizon, a flock of birds break free from their resting place in the field and lift off into the air all at once, feathers falling from their bodies and drifting slowly in the breeze. Some of them drop against the flora and some spin in somersaults in the air before getting caught in tassel or disappearing with the breeze altogether.
You reach forward to pluck one from its confines and when you draw it closer to your face to scrutinize the colors, you notice alternating charcoal, chocolate and tawny stripes as it tapers to a tall and elegant point and realize it has been dropped by a wild pheasant.
The feather trembles with life and bursts forth towards the sun, growing and transforming into a statuesque, regal and rare albino peacock crest. You clutch the quill tightly and tilt your head to see the plumage in its entirety; the eye at the top and it's surrounding wisps reaching upwards and rocking in the breeze as the corn stalks do.
Your name is called again from somewhere in the distance and you suddenly remember your purpose; to hunt for someone or something that beckoned you into this field. You reach the peacock feather high into the air and wave it around, as if it were a white flag of surrender and all at once you can feel the energy of a person approaching.
You watch as the feather singes blue at the top before igniting into a tiny orange flame and then bursting into an explosion of sparks. You gasp and cover your mouth but hold on tightly as it takes on the form of a vintage metal sparkler, tiny garish white lights kindle and erupt downwards towards your fingertips, burning each feather on the way until they snuff and silence when they reach the calamus.
Your eyes burn with tears and at the same moment, two sturdy and familiar arms are throwing themselves around your waist as a mouth bumps the shell of your ear. The voice is a hoarse rasp, comforting and loving when it utters, "gotcha."
You close your eyes and smile, melting back into his arms as his lips attach to the base of your neck before spinning you in his grasp. A black beanie is pulled down on his head just enough to allow wisps of curls to break free from underneath the sides and bottom, a warm smile pulls at his mouth to expose his teeth and dimple.
"Mmm," you kiss him and tug on his hat teasingly, "why did you wanna meet here, dingleberry? I could barely find you."
He kisses you and rubs your noses together, "I like searching." He dips his head and sponges a path of kisses from your ear, down the line of your neck and across your shoulder to the strap of your sun dress.
You laugh, "nothing can ever be easy for you, can it?" He hums and pushes the strap from the edge of your skin and guides it down your bicep with his knuckles, his mouth following behind in a trail of wet kisses.
"I walk the long, winding roads, pretty girl." Your panties pool at the drop of volume and tone of his voice, his hand brushing against your thigh and tugging on the hem of your dress. He digs his fingers into the skin of your hamstring and guides your leg around his waist before he connects your lips with a surge of breath through his nose.
You jump and wrap your other leg around his waist, squeezing tight and aligning your centers, running your fingers in his hair and scratching your nails into his scalp. He whines and drops backwards between the tall corn stalks, the leaves brushing your arms on the way down.
You land on top of him with a gasp and he laughs at your startled reaction before attaching your lips with a hum, his tongue sliding out to find yours in a slow, sizzling embrace that warms you from the tip of your toes in a heated path to your center. Another gust of wind blows the apexes of the plants in the same direction and that beautifully soothing sound surroundings you, the sun's rays making blips of an appearance of your exposed skin.
He rolls your bodies so that he lands on top, his hips nailing yours to the ground when he suctions his mouth to your neck, "mmm, Harry, are you trying to give me a wet dream?"
He hums in acknowledgment before darting his tongue out and licking a path to your chest. He tugs your dress down and sucks your nipple into his mouth, blowing cool air on it to stiffen the peak and repeating the process on your other breast. He deposits a single kitten lick before murmuring against your skin, "I was hoping to fuck you actually."
Your moan is high-pitched and salacious as you arch your back and drop your head into the leaves below you, "Harry..."
He slides down your body and lifts your skirt up to your belly button, sighing at the familiar sight of your pink sherbet lingerie, "you decided on these, hmm?"
You prop your torso up with your elbows and glance down at the moment he kisses your core on top of the strip of material, your tummy flipping and your muscles tightening when the tip of his tongue pushes against your bundle, "mmm, god. Or maybe you did?"
He considers this for a moment and decides that you're probably right and makes a mental note to buy you more lingerie as soon as possible. He groans when your knee lifts to press into his center, his cock already completely hard and bursting at the seams. He rolls his hips against your leg and pulls your underwear aside with shaking fingers, the tip of his tongue lightly tracing the folds surrounding your entrance.
"Teasing me?" He sighs and squeezes his eyes shut at the quiver in your voice and the way your knee continues to gently stroke his surging length, his tip passing a trickle of clear precome into his boxer briefs.
His index finger taps your swollen bud in little ticks and his ears swallow every lust-filled mewl, your core thrumming and dripping with his barely-there touches. He replaces his finger with the tip of his tongue, drawing tight little circles until he can visibly see moisture seeping from you.
He gathers your excitement and spreads it with his fingers and when you're crying and begging for more, even the slightest bit more, he's sliding a single finger inside of you torturously slowly, the whine that tumbles past your lips pulsing his cock and pulling forth another strong emission into his underwear.
"Fuck," he draws the vowel-sound out, "can't believe how wet you are. Mm'gonna come in my fucking pants." Your reply is simply a heavy pant when he starts moving his finger in and out with a bit more determination, his tongue lapping against your sensitivity in broad sweeps.
A rumble of distant thunder pulls your attention away from the work of his fingers and his tongue for a moment, your gaze drawn towards the sky as the sun slips behind a menacing storm cloud.
"Mmm, Harry?" Your feet kick against his calves and he groans in disappointment and shakes his head before withdrawing his digits and unbuttoning the fly of his pants to give his cock a bit of space as he climbs up your body.
A clap of thunder roars from directly above you this time and you gasp in surprise but Harry clamps his palm over your mouth, "it's okay, pretty." His hips roll against yours, the head of his length straining against his briefs and pressing into your bare entrance, "god, I want you so much."
You nod and he closes his eyes for a breath, sliding his hand into your hair to cup your cheek and hold your gaze, "want you right now." Another boom of thunder and you're both whining as your centers soak one another's, "right now," but then Harry's figure starts to dissolve, the weight of his body disappearing as yet another clamor of thunder cracks through the sky above you.
The cornfield disappears and your body feels soft and surrounded by cotton threads, consciousness slowly returning to you and at first you're disappointed but when you peel one eye open and see Harry hovering above you, a sigh of relief empties your chest.
His voice is thick with sleep, "you were there?" He's asking you to admit your mutual dream as his fingertips drift down your body and into your borrowed underwear, the pad of his middle finger ghosting up your entrance and moaning when he feels how absolutely drenched you are.
You nod and whisper, "yes," and he squeezes his eyes shut and moans once again, his face nuzzling into your neck as he mumbles 'feel me' into your skin. You reach down and stroke your fingers over his soaked briefs, his hard thickness pulsing against the material before you slide your hands into the back and dig your fingers into his hips.
He drops in between your legs and swivels your hips together, "please?" He flips your bodies and settles you on top, "please, I've gotta have you."
You sigh and sit up, pulling your t-shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside as you move down and pull off his briefs, pausing to suck his tip into your mouth. He whines and shakes his head, tugging on your hand and pulling you up on his lap once more, your centers wet and swollen and sparking as they make contact.
He grips his fingers into your hips and rocks your pelvis against his length, your folds coating him on each rut forward. "Ace... Ace... I'm ready," you both gasp when a roll of thunder cuts through the wanton breathing of his bedroom.
"Fuck," he nods, "yes." You lean forward and kiss him, striking your tongue with his before sitting up and wrapping your fingers around him, aligning his tip with your entrance and sinking down slowly as he stretches through your muscles. His eyes roll back in his head and his head falls into his pillows, his breath hitching in his throat and his lips parting to allow a soft pant coupled with a tender moan to escape.
Your slick tightness grips him like a loving fist and it's better than he could have ever imagined. He lays stock still and allows himself to feel and memorize this moment as he throbs inside of you, your body adjusting to accommodate his size and molding around him in a heavenly fit.
His chest rises and falls with breath before he picks his head up to you again, his voice strained and scratchy, "you feel so good. You feel so, so good." His eyes close and then pinch together when you circle your pelvis and lift your hips only to sink back down. He moans and squeezes his fingertips into your hips, his head lolling backwards once more, "my... fucking... god. Fuck me."
He rocks his hips up into you and his eyes pop open, his hand drags up the length of your spine to settle into your hair and grip the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. He slowly begins meeting you thrust for thrust, sweat accumulating on his chest and neck, his curls sticking to his cheeks and forehead.
His tongue slips smoothly from his mouth to flick against your bottom lip, "does it feel this insanely good for you too?"
You nod, your fingers leaving his shoulders to clutch the sheets beside his head, your hips speeding up and your ass slamming against his chiseled and bristly thighs, "fuck yes, Harry."
He moans, working you with his hips as his hands roam their way to your breasts, hissing loudly when he squeezes one and feels your nipple stiffen against his palm, "can't believe it. S'like you're hugging me. Can't hold on..." Harry has had plenty of sex in his lifetime and it's never felt like this for obvious reasons, but his heart starts pounding against his chest when he realizes that this is what it feels like to fuck someone - a woman - that you're deeply in love with.
"Oh god... I think I feel it... are you," you nod and he sobs out visciously, "I can feel it, oh my-" his voice is caught in his throat and he throws his head back, slowing to stop as you reach your edge.
You squeal out a frantic, "please don't stop!" and Harry's trying to figure out how he can possibly keep going through the intense pressure that your core is pulsing around him. He draws his head back to you slowly and when he sees your pained face, he growls and fucks into you relentlessly and mutters a slew of nonsensical encouragement as you tip over the cliff, falling fast and mumbling his name as your entire body seizes and then falls loose and lets go.
His toes curl and his orgasm kidnaps each one of his limbs, his mind drawing blank except for the illumination of neon sparks as he sobs praises into the skin of your sweaty throat. His buries himself as far as your body will allow, his fingernails digging into your shoulders as he keeps you pinned down against his hips while he unloads inside of you in infinite surges.
You collapse on top of him and try to control your breathing, both of your sweaty chests oscillating against one another as Harry's middle finger traces the bones of your spine. His mind shakes the dust of his orgasm away, his eyes peeling open as thunder continues to crack, the room bursting with flashes of electricity from the black sky.
He wraps his arms around your back and flips your bodies again as he stays hidden inside of you, his eyes roving across your face before he kisses you deeply with a soft moan. You kiss each other for what feels like hours as the storm carries on outside of his house, your hands roaming across each other's bodies as you whisper confessions of love and sentiments of adoration.
He pulls back, brushing your hair away from your ear and your heart tumbles when his words reflect your very first shared dream, "it was a long fall, but I'm so glad you're here with me."
Are you as obsessed as I am?
#haceforever
Xxx Birdie