25th April, 2020
I rub my damp hair with a towel quickly as I wander out of the en-suite and back into the bedroom. Another towel clings around my body, tucked in at the front at my chest to hold it up. I do feel a little better after having showered, but the air in the room still feels a little delicate.
Harry is sitting up on the bed, his back resting against the headboard but the sheets are undisturbed. He has a book in his hands that he's reading, and occasionally makes notes on it with a red ink pen. It's not a reading book, but I'm not entirely sure what it consists of. He's closed the blinds and curtains on the windows so that there's no possibility of anyone seeing inside, and when I'd arrived he'd already changed out of his clothes and into a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt.
I've noticed that all the poetry he had downstairs is now on top of the chest of drawers in here, and I wonder if he's written anything new since I found out about them.
"Shall I leave the towels on the radiator?" I ask quietly, standing at the side of the bed as I finish off drying my hair.
Harry looks to me, his eyes scanning me over once before he purses his lips. "Or..." he leans towards me and swiftly pulls at the hem of the towel around my body so that it falls to the ground, "you could just leave them there and get into bed."
I look to the floor with a frown, ignoring the way he pulls at my hand for a moment, and the fact that I'm now completely bare. "But they'll get all... you know, smelly and musty."
"They'll be fine for an hour, just," he takes the other from my hand and limply throws it to the ground, "come here a minute."
I sigh, doing as he asks and kneeing my way towards him to straddle his legs. Harry puts his book aside, his attention now solely on me. His hands graze up and down my sides, eyes paying very careful attention to the way I wrap my hair up in a tight bun at the back of my head where my neck meets my hairline.
"You haven't stopped moving since you got here, you're gonna give me a headache." He mumbles.
"Can you blame me?" I ask sullenly, but I don't mean it in a nasty way.
"Not really, but I don't like seeing you like this."
I laugh once; a dull hum. "Me neither. I'm just scared, I don't know what to do. My mother says I should help you, that you won't be able to finish what you started without me, but I don't know where to even begin with that. And frankly I don't want to get in your way, and I don't know if you'll be able to sort anything useful at all in two weeks and-,"
"Cecily." Harry cuts me off, a hard edge to his voice. "Stop."
I sit back a little, a subtle breath escaping through my slightly parted lips. I know I'm probably being irritating but I'm still struggling to see a way out of this absolute mess, and I can't help but stress.
Harry watches me in silence for a moment, unmoving. His hand takes my left, turning my palm to showcase my worry yet again from the deep blue glow. He rubs his thumb over it repeatedly, but I'm more interested in his face. He slowly blinks, but his relaxed expression never falters. The features of his face are something I should've appreciated much sooner after we met. I suppose I always thought he was a handsome boy in a way, but up close like this I constantly ridicule myself for being so ignorant. Of course looks aren't the most important thing, and I can certainly say that a lot of me loves him because he has such a perfect nature - a gentle heart and a kind soul. But a part of me will always hold a candle for his particular beauty.
"Tomorrow we'll pay a visit to Christian." Harry says quietly, still staring at my palm. "He's the one that started this - he's the one with all the ideas and the knowledge."
My brows pull slightly with my confusion. "Okay..."
He finally looks up to me, and there's something in his eyes that I find unusual. "There's a lot that you don't know, my love. And obviously that's not your fault, but it won't be an easy listen."
"This isn't making me feel any better, Ambrose."
After a brief pause, he inhales sharply with a flurry of blinks. "You're right, I'm sorry."
My chest squeezes as his eyes fall again. I don't know why, but I feel a need to trace my finger over his lips. When I do he smiles lightly, and that in return brings a smile to my face, even if only little. "I think we both need a distraction."
He lightly wets the end of my index finger with his lips, but I can't tell if the gesture is innocent or not. "I think I've got a few ideas."
"Would you maybe care to elaborate?" I ask with slightly pursed lips; expectant.
"Uh-huh," he wets my finger again in the same manner, "tell me you love me."
For some daft reason my stomach flutters, but I'm not slow on his request. Not at all. "I love you."
He sits forward enough to wrap his arms around me, but leans back against the headboard to take me with him. My breasts press against his front, as does my stomach eventually, and I'd honestly much prefer it if his t-shirt were off. As he sits back, he presses a hard kiss to my lips - nothing particularly demanding thanks to the way he smiles brilliantly with it, but I do have my hands with a gentle hold on his face as I too smile.
"Say it again." He murmurs into me, turning a kiss into the corner of my lips.
"I love you." I repeat, kissing him firmly again.
"One more time?"
I giggle helplessly, stealing his lips for a brief interlude. "I love you."
"You do?"
My laughter comes a little harder this time, but I'm still refusing to remove my lips from his. "I do. I've loved you in a number of different ways since that very first day in the woods nearly eight-hundred years ago, but right now, I love you in the most selfish of ways. I want you to be mine, for me to love, forever."
"Mage, I've been yours to love since day one." He assures me, and his hands have begun roaming my back. "You have me forever, I promise."
I smile at him, pressing a kiss to his lips - this time a little longer and a little firmer. He reciprocates easily, holding me tightly to him. "Being able to say 'I love you' means more to me than the ability to breathe." I confess breathily against his lips. "My life in this world would have been nothing without you."
He kisses me again, fervently and with an obvious desire. He's careful but desperate, both with his kisses and with his hands. He roams my body in almost every single way but one - his hands on my skin and his tongue in my mouth. It's hot in the room, not helped by the heating for this late hour, and certainly not by my recent shower. But I also quite like it. His hands feel somewhat cool against my back, yet his fingertips leave traces of fire wherever they move.
My hands faff to find the hem of his t-shirt, which seems to have got lost underneath my thighs. I'm sure Harry isn't complaining. I impatiently fist a bunch of fabric into my hands and yank it upwards, and I half expect a laugh from Harry, but I never get one. Once he's out of his top I discard it immediately to his side of the bed, wasting no further time without having my lips stuck to his.
Harry leans forward, now skin to skin at the chest as he attempts to pull his shorts down. He's warm; unusually. He prefers the cool but his skin is flush to the touch, and I don't know whether it's on purpose or not. I cling to him though, because it's a comfort. I raise my bum just a little so that he can finally free himself, and again he rather seems more determined than amused. I'm not complaining.
Our lips part for only a moment so that I can look between our bodies, and with a delicate hand around his length, I lower myself onto him until he fills me and settles that ache. There's a little whimper from me, and a drawn out groan from Harry, but he's quick to have his mouth back on mine.
I slowly build up a careful rhythm - rocking my hips over his to feel his length pulse inside me at times. His breathing falters when he reaches me in certain places - just a little catch of my breath that I normally might tease him for but am actually currently endeared by. That, and the realisation that I am just as uncoordinated as he, and that is rare.
My hands blindly roam his chest - figuring out every single detail of his torso and his shoulders and his arms because I never want to forget it. I never want to be in the position where I have to forget him again. We fit together in a way that I've never experienced or even understood, and I'm almost certain he hasn't either. I would quite happily never feel another man again, because it won't get better than this.
Harry takes a gentle hold of my face, and he kisses me in a way that makes me useless. I think my hips are still moving but I'm not entirely sure. All I do know is that I've never been so easily affected by a man the way I have been by Harry. And do you know what? I'm okay with it. His lips delicately move from mine to other places - first my cheek bone and then along my jaw down to my neck. But he's not aggressive or even a little bit rough. He's so impossibly careful that I'm not used to it and it's making me a little dizzy. I continue allowing him to, because it feels sensational even if I am a little out of it. Something about him being so careful with me has really made me lose myself, and it's almost like I'm not in my own body anymore.
He places a hand at the small of my back and rolls us over so that I'm on my back with my head nestled into his pillows. I slip my hand under his hair at the back of his head and sink into his emotions for a brief time. He seems the same as me, though there's a determination there as well - something foreign that I can't quite put my finger on. Whatever it is, I've no doubt that when he gets to it I'll be the one making all the noise.
He's currently bruising the soft skin at the bend of my jaw, just below my ear. I grip onto him tighter as he drives into me with a little more force, but it's only for a moment to seemingly work himself up for something.
His forehead drops to my collar, and he mumbles something that I did not register at all. I look to him - turning my head so that my chin rests by his ear.
"What was that?" I ask quietly, my fingers massaging into his scalp in a matching pace to his thrusts.
He looks up finally, meeting my eyes with a pained expression. I'm concerned - not only just for that fact that he looks to be in agony but also because of the way his pupils have blown out massively and I can barely see the greens of his irises anymore.
"Harry, wha-,"
"You're going to say 'no'," he cuts me off, but his voice is strained and coarse, "but I still have an obligation to ask, and I'm going to have to choose to ignore it."
My brows merge into one as I initially struggle to comprehend what he's saying. I can see when he talks the two little canines he's recently been so terrible at hiding. And that's when it clicks.
"Isn't that against the l-,"
"Cecily, can I feed from you?" He asks, brokenly as his pace has slowed considerably to the point he's barely even moving.
I feel a strike of guilt in my chest from my immediate reaction - a shake of my head to give him the 'no' he already expected. "Harry, you know I can't give you the answer you want."
"I know." He confirms. "But you need to give me a verbal answer."
I study him for a moment, hating the plea in his eyes. It's a lose-lose situation for me. He's going to do it anyway - he's going to break his own law by doing it without permission. And I'm going to have to suffer whatever consequences there are that have been kept such a massive secret.
"No."
He nods once, sighing through panted breaths. He delicately strokes my face, and even though I'm flinching slightly, it's not specifically because I'm scared of him. I've never been scared of him, because he's just not that way in nature with me. As much as I hate what he's about to do, I also can't seem to find the energy to pull away. Maybe it's because I don't want to. Harry clearly has his reasons, but it doesn't change that I'm confused.
"I love you, Cecily." It sounds like a promise, which is why I struggle to come up with a response.
He moves his hips again, and I regress into a torn state where I fight to succumb to pleasure. I don't want to let him go but I don't want to touch him either. I don't know what to expect and I don't know what is natural. All I do know is that I'm about to reach the end of a very confusing tether.
Harry presses his lips to the crook of my neck, just above my collar bone, and his other hand carefully holds the other side of my neck but just underneath my jaw. He tilts my head slightly, and a shaky breath leaves my lips. I close my eyes as I wait for it, whatever it is. I feel slightly useless; wondering what to do with myself.
I hiss when I feel it - the piercing of his teeth into my skin, but it doesn't particularly last long. His mouth presses to my neck, and I can feel the drawing of blood from my body immediately. But it's not painful. It's not even remotely uncomfortable. It's hypnotic.
I curl around him - more so than I already had been. I wrap my arms around his back and give myself to him entirely. He still thrusts into me, pairing one method of pleasure with another. I'm on fire - my entire body is just writhing with heat and it's delicious. I fear if he lets me go I'll freeze. I'd happily swelter with him if it meant he didn't stop.
Harry's lips feel like melted chocolate against my skin, because I know they're there but they feel too good. Even better than they normally do. I turn my head again to rub my cheek against the side of his face, and he whimpers - his body shivering with it.
I don't know if his length inside of my core or his teeth in my neck is what's doing it, but I'm suddenly near the end of a very different tether - one that threatens an implosion any minute now.
"Harry," I breathe desperately, because I want his lips but I also don't want him to stop.
He squeezes me tighter, thrusting his hips harder and I can feel that he wants to stop feeding. There's a strange connection there now that wasn't present before - like he's thrown a piece of rope across a wide canyon and I've finally caught it, and that canyon was the space between our bodies. And maybe the more he does it the stronger our connection will be - what starts as a length of rope will develop into a rope bridge, and then a wooden bridge, and then a concrete bridge. Until it's something unbreakable.
He pulls away, looking at me with slightly glazed over eyes. I take a hold of his head and pull his lips back to mine. I don't care for the lingering blood and its slightly metallic taste, all I care about is him.
"I love you, Ambrose." I whisper into his lips, and I can feel him smiling into me.
He rocks into me for the final time, and that bloody tether finally snaps. I still, clinging to him desperately as he shudders inside of me. His warmth pools into my core, and we're both just waiting for the other to calm from it. We feel electric - paired beyond anything I thought might ever be possible. I never ever want to let this feeling go.
He holds his hand to my left where it's pressed against his cheek, and he turns his head to kiss my palm. He smiles once he's properly looked at it, and though it seems innocent it carries a slight pride.
"What?" I ask with a warm smile, still watching him.
Harry looks at me, his expression never faltering. "Your hand."
I twist my palm, and my stomach floors at the sight of it. It glows - that's nothing unusual, I know -, but it glows white. Like a big bright pearl that had been trapped in an oyster and had suddenly seen the sun.
"Her grasped hand in pearls.
I long to see the most,
In the spoils of a dress she'd wed,
A cause from myself and nothing more,
To one day be bound."
I stare at Harry for a moment as I comprehend what he recites to me. That was the last part of the poem he recited on his birthday. I remember that it involved a lot of colours and he said magenta was his favourite but I struggled to understand much else, mostly because I was a little dazed after... you know. But now I get it. Well, at least I think I do.
"To one day be bound..." I repeat quietly, turning my gaze back to my hand. "Is that..." I show my hand to him again, "is that what this is?"
He nods with a smile, taking my hand again to leave yet another kiss to it. "I knew it."
My brows dip slightly. "Did you? Because I've never heard of this before..."
"I know you haven't." He strokes his cheek against my hand with a soft upturn of his lips. "Barely anyone knows anymore."
"So how do you know?"
He stills for a moment, still with a little smile of his that hurts my chest. "Christian."
I'm still frowning a little - confusion obvious. Harry sits up slightly but then rolls over onto his back beside me. I suddenly feel empty - quite physically -, but I turn onto my side and hook my leg over his thigh. He rests his hand there.
"We spent a lot of time together whilst we were away. Every day we were just talking about shit and eventually it's all going to finally come out. Especially when we were doing what we were doing." His hand strokes my hair as he talks, and I struggle not to close my eyes.
"But how does Christian know about it?" I ask impatiently.
"I don't want to go into too much detail because it's not my story to tell, and Christian will tell it much better than I can. But I've told you before, he was in a relationship not entirely dissimilar to ours."
"You mean with a witch."
"Yes." He nods again. "And they discovered the same thing."
"They're bound?"
Harry continues nodding. "Yep. And have been for some time. It's a rare thing on its own. It doesn't happen with just anyone, or any coupling. It has to be a witch and a vampire," he cringes at the term, as he always does, "otherwise it won't happen. It will never happen with your sisters because they married different beings, and until we revert your laws, it probably won't happen again."
I inhale a breath as I try to digest what he's telling me. I suppose it's nice to know that we've got something beyond much explanation other than that we really are soulmates, but then I don't know how I feel about having such a responsibility. Does this work in our favour or against it?
"You said you knew..." I look up to him, "what did you mean when you said 'I knew it'?"
"Well, I didn't know, obviously. But I had a very strong feeling it would happen if I did it. And believe me, I've never fed from anyone without their permission and ideally you'd be the last person I'd ever have to do that to, but your confession tonight has sort of put everything into motion."
"We're running out of time." I acknowledge.
"Yeah... but two weeks is good." He assures me with a kiss to my forehead. "Better than we would've expected."
"Sorry I... you know, messed up your timeline." I sigh, rubbing my cheek against his shoulder.
He chuckles once. "I thought you were going to swear then."
"No."
"Only if you want me to come."
I smack his arm with a scowl. "Why have you always got to turn a serious conversation into something crude?"
"It's practically my nature darling, you know this." He continues to laugh, and he curls into me slightly, leaving a delicate kiss to my forehead. "And you don't have to apologise for it. If anything you've done us a favour, because now we can move it along quicker and hopefully I'll have you down the aisle within the year."
I snort. "Awfully presumptuous of you, Ambrose."
"Not to mention optimistic. And yet here we are," he gestures his arms wide, "already in bed together."
"That ship sailed a long time ago."
"Certainly did. Bit faffy for a while, wasn't it?"
I hum quietly. "That was mostly my fault."
"I think we're equally to blame, my love."
"Maybe. Or we were just equally as stupid."
"Oh, that too. But I think it made us what we are. We knew it wasn't the right time and we were perhaps a bit scared, and that's alright. But now we know what we want and it's time things changed back to the way they were, because I am so bored of not being married to your arse yet."
"Just my arse?" I pout. "I thought you liked me for more than that."
"Cecily Coeur, did you just say the word 'arse'?" Harry gasps, but there's a mischievous lightness to his eyes.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Darling, I love your everything, but your arse is especially nice." He kisses my forehead again, and then leans forward to smack my bum.
I giggle.
"I've written poems about your arse." He assures me with a smirk.
I don't know whether to cringe, grimace or laugh, so I do what can only be described as a combination of all three. "You are utterly ridiculous."
"But..."
I roll my eyes, but fail to hide my smile. "But, for some inexplicable reason, I love you."
Harry inhales deeply, and then releases a long and loud sigh that over-exaggerates his satisfaction. "Don't need a reason."
"Well it's a good job then, isn't it?"
He smirks at me. "Say it again. I like the way it rolls off your tongue."
I laugh, burying my face into his shoulder. "You're just teasing me now."
"Come on, one more time." He begs, but he's laughing as he shakes my shoulder. "And then I'll stop, I promise."
I lift my head up with a little huff. "Fine. Je t'aime."
His mouth drops, a growing smile widening his cheeks until his dimples show. "Cece, that is a whole new can of worms you've just opened."
I laugh loudly, my head thrown back just a little. "Why?!"
"In French, are you serious?"
"Or... eu te amo..."
"Cecily," he laughs awkwardly.
"How about jeg elsker deg?" I shrug, smiling a little. "You like Norway, don't you?"
"What are you doing?" He's giggling now.
"I'm just... exercising my right to say it in as many languages as I can." I assure him, pushing my hands through his hair. "Ik hou van jou... main tumse pyaar karthi hoon... mo feran e..."
"How many are you going to do?" He asks, pressing a long kiss to my cheek.
"As many as I can remember." I admit with a proud smile. "Se agapo... saranghae... seni seviyorum..." I pause for a moment. "Aren't you going to join in?"
He barks a laugh, and wraps himself around me, rolling me to his other side as he litters the side of my face with quick pecks. "My darling, you put me to shame."
"Nonsense, you've never been ashamed in your entire life." I cackle, meeting his lips in a long and hard kiss. I move myself so that I'm more sat straddling him. "Oh, I forgot mahal kita," I wet his nose, "and ti amo,"
"I know you had it for me bad in the 1300s." He interrupts with a quick kiss back.
"And I know that's a reference to Florence, and I'm going to choose to ignore it." I tell him, kissing his left cheek. "Also ya tebya lyublyu," then his right cheek, "ek is lief vir jou," and then his forehead.
Harry holds my back as he leans forwards to press a kiss to my sternum in a quick movement. "You know I'd let you do this all night, don't you?"
"Uh-huh," I kiss the top of his head, "so... volim te... l'úbim ťa... miluji tě..."
"I didn't know you'd been to Slovakia." He hums, looking up to me with a face of innocence.
"I've visited briefly but I actually learnt that from a girl I worked with in the nineties."
"Which nineties?"
I roll my eyes and laugh at him. "The most recent nineties. Stop recycling your terrible jokes, Ambrose."
"It was a genuine question!" He insists through laughter, but I still don't believe him. "Come on, you've got over a hundred years on me, I don't know when you learnt what, do I?"
"You were teasing me, stop lying." I shove him lightly, but I'm far from irritated.
I simply watch him for a moment, because his interest in our conversation lessens some with a new glimpse at my hand. He delicately takes my wrist and spreads my fingers with his thumb to study the white glow on my palm. He kisses it softly, a timid smile on his face that squeezes at my insides. The man really does wear his heart on his sleeve, and I love him for it.
Harry naturally sets himself apart from the others of his kind because he cares. In the early stages of my life, and I mean up until the day I met him, I'd never held much respect for Ambrosia's children. I'd never really had a nice encounter with one - they were just always self-righteous and ignorant.
But Harry? He's the total opposite. He's arrogant but only in a narcissistic kind of way. And I've seen the petty side of him one too many times. As all men do he loves a brush of his ego, but I feel like when the time came he would know when to stop. He has a limit. But I've never known him to be ignorant - at least not without being slightly naive with it. He's just... good. And I mean that in the best and most genuine of terms. I know he holds being a good person above pretty much anything, and I can categorically say that he is just that.
"How many years do you think it took the world to tell us we were made for each other before we finally got it?"
I blink out of my reverie, refocusing on him and the way he's begun kissing his way up my arm. I gradually begin lowering myself towards him, smiling like an idiot. "Depends if they stopped after that night in Samar or that night in Paris."
He hums contemplatively, sucking gently against the skin of my shoulder. "Both incredibly good nights in my opinion."
"And mine." I assure him with a soft laugh. I use my free hand to card my fingers through his hair.
"I think Paris was a little bittersweet..." he admits. He holds himself up slightly with one hand now, so that he's not completely laid down. "For you especially."
I nod slowly. "I've never felt more vulnerable than I did when I was sitting at your dining table. I was terrified - I thought you'd ask me to leave."
He hums a laugh. "No idea why." He pecks a kiss to my lips. "Even if you'd insulted me until the sun came up I'd never ask you to leave. It's impossible to ask anyone to leave when all you'd done for..." he blows a breath through his lips, "nearly five-hundred years was love them."
I drape my arms around his shoulders with a guilty sigh. "I'm so embarrassed that it took me so long to realise."
"You shouldn't be embarrassed, Cece." He chuckles, nudging his nose against mine. "We were never going to have an easy journey with this, no matter if you'd have realised sooner or not. What happened in 1402 made that virtually impossible, and if anything, this has been the easier way. Imagine if we had married before the law changed."
My stomach churns at the thought. Sabine never admitted it, but through word of mouth (probably not the most accurate communication but I do know when someone is lying to me) we learned that she'd had any couple of such nature assassinated. I'm still not entirely convinced it's true but those times certainly felt more like dictatorship. And yet to your face she was utterly charming. "She really was brutal."
Harry nods as he leaves a long kiss to my lips. My core aches again. "Samar was fun though, wasn't it?"
I giggle, holding my lips to his for a selfish moment longer. "You were just happy to finally get your end away."
"Excuse you, but I've never considered you just a shag piece." He retorts, pulling back slightly to frown at me.
I cringe at the term. "That makes one of us."
His mouth drops, and my laughter grows hysterical. "That was mean."
"Oh, come on!" I cling myself to him, still laughing. I paint the side of his face with affection, but he's being relentlessly stubborn for the time being. "Majha tujhyavar prem ahe, you know I was only joking."
"You can't just slip in foreign 'I love you's and think it'll make it any better." He huffs, pretending to ignore my kisses.
"But aamhi tumake bhalo bashi..." I pout.
"Nope." He shakes his head.
"Harry!" I whine, and shake his shoulders.
"Nah, you've done it now. Too late."
I drop my hands to my lap, still pouting because I hate that for possibly the first time ever he's not giving me any attention. "Alright..." I mumble, slowly climbing off him towards the edge of the bed, "I'll just go, then."
"Alright, bye then."
I turn around quickly with a wide-eyed and open-mouthed gasp. He's smirking now, so I reach to smack at his chest. "Prick."
He gasps even louder than I had, "Cecily Coeur!" He shouts, and leans forwards to wrap his arms around my waist. "That's twice in one night!"
I squeal stupidly as he pulls me back towards him, and I end up on my back with him hovering over me. "You deserved that one."
"Probably." He laughs darkly, and leans down to press a long, hard and frankly dirty kiss to my lips.
Harry finds the back of my thigh and brings it up to rest against his hip, while I've got my hands with a firm grip on either side of his face. Our kiss is deep and desperate, and I know we're imminently sure to return to that sinful place we've probably too often frequented.
"You really should swear more often, darling." Harry growls into my lips, his hand squeezing my thigh and my waist. "It's annoyingly attractive."
I grow somewhat flustered but I'm still far more invested in our kiss. "Oh yeah?"
He grunts his reply, biting on my lower lip harshly. "Supposed to be a sign of intelligence, too."
"Well in that case," I reach down between our bodies to wrap around his hot and hard length, "you might as well just fuck me."
He laughs once, but the sound is dragged out with disbelief. His head drops to watch as I blindly guide him into my wet heat again. "Think this tops it you know."
I reclaim his lips as he begins thrusting fiercely into me, and I tightly wrap my legs around him. "What's that?"
"Shitty circumstances aside, this is the best day of my life." He admits with such confidence that I want to combust. He's not been in me a minute and I could already come. "I fucking love you."
I laugh breathily, pulling his mouth back to mine. "I love you, too."
~.~
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22nd February, 1565
I sit on the bottom plank of the wooden steps that lead up to my little hut. My feet dig into the sand, and even though it's hot I've grown used to it.
I've grown used to this island, actually. This way of life and the people here. Samar is a naturally beautiful place - the sea is a gorgeous turquoise and the tall palm trees that line the beach are thick and green enough to provide suitable shade. Building my home here in the line of the trees along the beach was a brilliant idea.
It's very quiet here, the locals are friendly and unobtrusive. Some quickly figured out what I am and others may be somewhat skeptical of it, but they've never shunned me or threatened to burn me on a stake like I would be back in England. That's one of the reasons I'd like to stay here as long as possible.
The weather is humid today - especially warm with the oncoming storm. I can see it coming from the east from where I sit - dark grey clouds penetrating and swallowing the once blue skies and approaching the island to cleanse it. I welcome the rain here. I love feeling it on my skin because it's still warm in the air and the rain cools me. In England when it rains it's usually already cold to begin with.
I wear a two-piece when the weather is like this - just something to give a little more air to my body, because one of my least favourite things is being sticky and sweaty. The fabric is cotton which is always helpful - red in colour as I often tend to feel my best when wearing red. The top is short-sleeved and cropped around the middle, and the skirt is actually quite long but they look well together. There's a little detailing stitched in orange into the ends of the sleeves and the hem of the skirt, just swirls and pretty patterns that make the ensemble a little less plain.
I sip from a coconut I'd found this morning, but grimace at the taste. I'm not completely averse to it, but there are just so many here and the tastes have a tendency to vary wildly. I've just been unfortunate to have one that tastes vile.
I should be retiring soon, but I like to watch the sun go down. I know it seems to always set in the west, but in this part of the world (and often England when it's not completely cloudy) the colours are just always spectacular.
A commotion along the beach towards the town in the south catches my attention. I can hear the locals sounding somewhat distressed, so I look that way to try and understand what's happening. Apparently I'd been too preoccupied watching the storm approach, because five huge and grand ships have suddenly appeared, and seem to be making their way towards us.
I immediately stand, and begin running towards the town. The sand makes it difficult and I might look slightly ridiculous and flaily at times but I don't like the idea of the community being in distress. I like it here because there isn't any stress.
As I approach I notice that the ships are incredibly beautiful and no doubt from some foreign royalty. They have a very specific look about them, but if it weren't for the news that they'd been on an island causing trouble before now, I may not be so certain. The Spanish have been slowly making their way around the islands for something, but I don't know what specifically.
I watch from a distance compared to the locals because some still aren't so certain of me and I don't want to cause any propaganda. I notice that Norjannah, a young woman who often visits me when she has a free moment stands with her mother towards the front of the group. She's around twenty, I believe, and a curious soul to say the least. She visits to learn English, because she one day plans to travel. I don't think her mother knows this, nor that it will ever happen. She's a pretty girl, though. Something tells me she may end up marrying into a family of some wealth.
Norjannah looks over her shoulder to find me, and I smile back at her when she grins. She attempts to pull away from her mother, but her mother keeps her by her side. I've never had any trouble from her mother, but I get the distinct feeling that she doesn't like me.
Looking back to the ships, I've noticed that men have begun to climb off each now they're all anchored, and into little row boats to begin making their way ashore. I want to go back to my hut and hide, pretending like nothing ever happened. But I also want to stay to make sure nothing damaging does happen. It's not my island so if the locals decide to welcome them then that's their decision. But if they're not willing to let them in then I'll certainly put up a fight with them.
One of the young children - a little boy named Buwan runs to me, and wraps his arm around my leg. I look to his parents who have only ever been kind to me, and they're both smiling at me. I smile back, and then look down to the little boy, stroking a hand over his thick, black hair. He looks up at me with a blank expression, so I lean down to collect him into my arms.
"Boat." He says to me as he points at the ship. The locals that want to learn will always try and pick up the odd English word. Buwan and his parents are some of those few. 'Boat' just so happens to be one of the child's favourite words.
I laugh quietly and nod as he rests on my hip. "Lots of boats. And big ones, too."
With Buwan hooked onto my hip still, we watch as what feels like an army of men descend onto the island from their row-boats. A man in distinct armour stands at the very front, surrounded by a group of perhaps fifty men. I've no doubt there are more on those ships.
As a slight broken conversation occurs between Data Urrao and the man named Lopez de Legazpi, the Spanish representative, I take my time studying the other men. They tend to vary in height but their builds are all the same - a little burly and stockish, but that could be helped by the chain armour they wear. They all bear the same expression, though. One that says they're confused and maybe even tired.
And then my eyes land on someone I'd never expected to see. Of course Harry is already looking at me, and the moment we lock gazes my jaw sets with irritation. Why is he here with the Spanish? What could he possibly want in this part of the world? He stands out by a mile - not just because he's the most handsome but also because he's the only man not wearing any armour. He wears a dark blue linen shirt again and nothing but a pair of hose on his legs. I do suppose a doublet in this weather as is usually traditional would be too hot in this part of the world, but he looks like he's just woken up. Given the time of day, there is every possibility of that.
My stomach twists more the longer I look at him. Every time I see him he's grown more attractive, and I don't know how I feel about it. It's confusing because he is supposedly just my friend, but these chance meetings are getting a little strange, and I keep getting this aching feeling whenever I see him. Not to mention whenever I think about him. I don't know what it means but I'm starting to get tired of feeling ill over him.
His gaze drops to Buwan, and his calm expression saddens somewhat. He probably thinks the child is mine. Obviously he isn't because he looks nothing like me, but I suppose Harry has every reason to assume. I don't know why he might be sad that I'd have a child. I suppose marriage and children is not something I've spoken about with him much, but it doesn't mean I wouldn't like to have just that. Am I not allowed to have that?
A small cheer interrupts my thoughts, and I look back to the two leaders for a tell-tale of what's happening. Two cups are being brought out to Data Urrao, and I don't need to know much more to know that it's my time to leave. And probably Harry's. People gather around the two leaders, but Harry breaks from them to make his way towards me. I put Buwan back on his feet, and whisper in his ear for him to go back to his parents. With a pout and a little nod he complies, running off before my immortal friend can perhaps upset him.
"Is the child yours?" Harry asks without any formal greeting.
I frown. "Does he look like mine, Ambrose?"
He closes his mouth, struggling slightly for a response. I take my opportunity to turn away, because I've now missed the sunset and I would quite like to go to sleep.
"Wait," Harry hurries ahead of me, turning to take a grip on my shoulders and keep me in place. "I'm sorry, that was ignorant of me. I just didn't quite expect to find you here and holding a baby... it took me by surprise."
"Am I not allowed to travel and have children of my own?" I ask shortly, folding my arms across my chest.
He drops his hands, a little confused as he shakes his head. "No, that's... not what I meant. I mean I'm just surprised to see you here, and I've no doubt you're just as surprised seeing me."
He's not wrong. I sigh deeply, my arms falling to my sides as I look towards the ocean. "When was the last time you fed?"
"Yesterday." He admits. "But I'd rather not be near them for their blood compact."
I look back to him without moving my head. He does look slightly pained. "I suppose I can't argue with that. I live just down the beach, come on."
He doesn't directly answer but he does follow, easily falling into step beside me. I look towards the sea as we walk, a little gooey over the way the water glitters under the appearance of the moon. Even though the air between Harry and I is a little tense, the beauty of our world does bring a small smile to my lips.
"You're wearing red again." Harry comments as we walk.
I look to him with a blank expression, and lower my head just an inch with my acknowledgement. "And you're wearing blue again."
He looks down at himself, slight double chin appearing that makes me smile a little. "I hadn't noticed." He says when he looks back to me.
My eyes narrow, and I can't help but reach up to rest my hand against his forehead. He hisses, pulling away from me with a scowl.
"No need to lie, Harry." I laugh once, rolling my lips inwards. Perhaps my slightly odd feelings are reciprocated by the immortal.
"Well..." he clears his throat, "some things stick with you, don't they?"
"It certainly looks that way." I hum a little laugh. "I'm flattered you think of me occasionally."
"I always think about you."
My walking pace slows, and I gradually look up to him with a wide-eyed stare. "Pardon-?"
"Is this it?" He practically stops my question, standing before the hut nestled in the tree line.
I halt altogether and follow his gaze. It's not particularly large, perfect enough for just myself. There's not much in it - a compensating bed and a couple of chairs, with a small counter space to prepare food, but I tend to eat out in the town most nights with the locals.
"Yes, this is me."
"Petite." He comments, looking at me with only a hint of a smug grin.
I nod my head to the right with a gentle lift of my brows. "I suppose. But I'm never in it."
"May I go inside?"
I know he has to ask, but his polite question amuses me some. "Of course."
He smiles lightly, before making his way towards the wooden steps that lead up to my small porch. I'd had the door open when I was watching the storm approach earlier, and it's still open now. The wind picks up as I follow him, whipping my hair around annoyingly and blocking my view. I pull it up and off my face, taking the little rope tie I keep on my wrist and wrapping it in a sloppy bun out of the way.
"It's dark." Harry mumbles as I shuffle into the hut behind him.
"One moment, Ambrose." I laugh bemusedly. "It was still daylight when I ran to town."
His grin is genuine, and he takes a step backwards so that I can stand just ahead. I keep my arms slightly raised at the height of my hips, palms facing outwards.
"Leohtbora."
Once the word is spoken, the room suddenly lights up, only dimly but enough to see through the entire hut now that night is settling in. All along the walls hang little candles, and even without company I've thought they decorate my home rather romantically.
I don't keep much in this space, because as Harry has already observed it's on the smaller side, and I like to keep things minimal. My bed sits at the very back of the hut, its length easily fitting against the back wall, and in front of it is a rug I was gifted by Buwan's parents on my last birthday. The two bamboo wicker chairs I own sit facing one another against the left wall with a small and low round table between them of a similar style, and the minimal counter is situated against the right wall. I also have a dresser at the foot end of my bed, that keeps all my clothes, but again I don't own much. Anything I do have I usually leave with my mother and Verity.
"Make yourself comfortable." I instruct.
Harry looks to me for a moment, before glancing back around the room. He takes a few steps forwards, and then hovers again, clearly unsure on where to put himself. I know there's not much to sit on but is it really that difficult a choice?
While he ponders exactly where he wants to settle, I pour myself some water from the jug I'd filled this morning. "Do you want some?" I ask him, my voice not entirely present.
He shakes his head. "No, thank you."
I watch him as I drink my water. He eventually settles on the bed, but he still perches on the end like he's not particularly comfortable with any of it. I wonder what could possibly make him so uneasy. He's never behaved like this around me before, or at least not unless he's not had the opportunity to feed for a while and he's antsy to be in such close proximity with me. But he fed yesterday apparently, so I'm struggling to understand his issue.
"You're angry with me." Harry finally addresses his problem, looking to me as he rubs his palms against his thighs.
I swallow the remainder of my water and set the cup on the counter. "A little, I suppose."
He nods three times, chewing on the inside of his lower lip. I've never seen him like this. He's always behaved with such confidence and often arrogance around me that comes with most vampires. But this? A nervous and unsettled immortal - it seems a little disconcerting. "I'm not sure what I've done to warrant it. Besides the assumption earlier."
I clear my throat and take a step forward, resting my hand on the back of the chair closest to him. I bear a soft frown, but only because I'm just as confused as he seems to be. "The... arrival with the Spaniards has confused me somewhat, I shan't lie."
"Why?" He cocks his head. "Are you not happy to see me?"
"No!" I shake my head furiously. "No, it's not that at all, Harry. I just... I think you're better than that. They seem to be some... brutish people, I've heard about what happened in the Mariana Islands."
"I understand that may seem a little unnecessary, but it wasn't as bad as you've probably heard."
"Their houses were burned and people were killed."
Harry holds his breath for a moment, and then releases a long sigh. "I know. I didn't want it to happen, but Miguel is a brash man, and I am not privy to his council. I'm just a passenger."
"How on Earth did you manage to be granted passage on a war ship?"
"They're for expeditions, they're not here for war." He argues.
"Then why are all the men in armour? And why were you allowed off the ship?"
"I don't know why they're in armour, Cece. They can't refuse me if I ask because they'll know the repercussions. It's how I got on the ship in the first place, and how I can get off if I want to. I don't normally stay, I'm just exploring. If they leave - I leave with them."
I study him for a moment. It's clear that he's stressing about my opinion, and I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing. I'm no one to tell him how he should live his life, just like he's never told me how to live mine. "Ambrose, I'm not your mother, I'm your friend. If that's how you'd like to travel, then you carry on. I have to admit I'm relieved that you're not advising them, but part of me wishes you wouldn't continue with them."
"Then I won't." He sounds impossibly certain.
"I'm not telling you what to do, I just don't thi-,"
"Cecily, I will stay." He insists, standing up again to move towards me. He takes a careful hold of my face, something he's never done before in countless years of friendship. It makes me nervous. "As long as you'll have me, if it's what you want, I'll stay."
In this moment, I'm completely and utterly entranced by him. Why is it that the most romantic and amorous thing that anyone has ever said to me, has come from my oldest and dearest friend? And why is it, that as I stare into the thick woodland of his irises and struggle to retain a steady breathing pattern, all I want to do is kiss him? His lips beckon to me, like a calling bird with a beautiful song desperate to be heard. His eyes tell me a story that I think I've heard a million times before and yet have never really listened to or appreciated it for its true beauty. In this moment, all I want him to do is wrap me up and hide me away forever, but all I can see is a result of tragedy if we do.
But I want him.
I want the immortal in more ways than just physically, I want his mind and body and soul. I want to be connected to him like no other coupling has ever been before. I want to create magic with him in every imaginable way, until we're exhausted and tired of each other, damned to a lifetime of argument and distress. And then I'll want him after that for something rough and meaningful, until we're brimmed and overflowing with some sinful lust and desire.
These images curse my mind. I shouldn't want any of this, because it could mean an early grave for me, and maybe even him. I don't want that, not for either of us.
"Mage,"
"I could never ask you to leave, Harry." I admit, and I rest my hands on his wrists. "You'd be welcome anywhere, you should know that by now."
His lips don't upturn, but I can see the joy in his eyes. I've never entirely understood why he values my opinion so much when vampires often consider witches to be childish and naive. And yet he always looks to me for personal council. Maybe that's why he was so uneasy earlier - because I was a little disappointed. The last thing I've ever wanted is for him to follow me like a puppy. He's his own person, and I am simply a friend. But I hold a tremendous amount of respect for him, and I always will do.
Harry's thumb brushes my cheek towards my lips. My breathing falters again as he caresses my upper lip with the pad of his thumb, before he smooths downwards and pulls my bottom lip a little. My eyelids flutter helplessly, along with my stomach. Why has such a simple thing made me so very dizzy? Part of me wants to suck his thumb, and yet I don't really know if we're anywhere near that yet.
Still, I can't seem to help myself. I smooth my hand from where it holds his wrist to rest flat against the back of his hand, and twist my head enough to brush my lips against his palm. As I inhale a long breath my eyes fall closed, and I can feel Harry move just that inch closer to me.
We linger this way for a while. A feeling of limbo clings to us - like this is as far as we should ever go, because even as just friends this oversteps a number of boundaries. People who are just friends don't touch each other in this manner. But then maybe that's just it - maybe we're not just friends. The idea makes my body ache with more than just the obvious reason. My longing for this beautiful man has changed in nature drastically in recent years, but I fear it's only a physical thing. And if we ruin that by being physical, I don't know if the loss of his constant presence would be worse or better for me. Still, all I currently want to know is how he could (undoubtedly) calm the one prominent ache between my legs.
Harry's right hand drops slightly to rest against my neck, just under my jaw. His thumb settles under my chin in an unthreatening manner, and he nudges there in an attempt to pull my attention back to him. He'd never lost my attention, it was just less obvious.
I turn my head back, looking up into the greenery of his eyes again. He seems calm. I feel a need to hold the back of his head to truly understand him, but I've never done that before and the last thing I want to do now is overwhelm him.
"Children of Ambrosia grow a reputation for being difficult and complex," Harry mumbles, but his expression never wavers and his eyes never stop studying what feels like every inch of my face, "but the truth is I'm a simple man."
I don't say anything, but I do caress my thumb against his hand. I don't particularly want to say anything, nor do I have anything to respond with. Even if I did I probably wouldn't, because I get the impression he's not finished.
He inhales a drawn out and slightly shaky breath. His thumb runs over my lips again, and I refuse to move. "I've never wanted much - only two things really. Travelling has always been an easy thing. But the other thing... something has just always been in my way."
My eyes fall closed again, mostly because I don't know what on Earth he could be about to say and I'm a little worried. He's still brushing my lips so I'm going to assume it's something about me. In a way I hope it's about me. Please be about me.
"But for the longest time, Mage,"
I open my eyes again at the name he uses for me, my breathing now uncoordinated.
He's still watching me closely, but he suddenly appears vulnerable. He stops moving his thumb, "my biggest want has been to know what your lips would taste like."
The room feels still. Whatever ache I'd been feeling a moment ago, has now been swallowed and multiplied by a hundred butterflies coursing around my body, and namely up my chest and throat. "Harry, I-,"
"You don't want to." His hands drop quickly, and the absence of them makes me feel cold. "I'm sorry, Cecily."
I panic as he begins to move around me, his head hung low. "Wait, where are you going?" I ask frantically, taking his hand and stopping him.
He does pause, though he seems reluctant. He also seems embarrassed and I hate that, because I'm the one that made him feel that way. That's the last thing I wanted, the opposite of what I wanted. "I've made you uncomfortable, I should go."
"Stop, Harry." I pull at his hand again as he attempts to leave. "You haven't done anything of the sort, just give me a moment."
His eyes search me again, just my face for any kind of reluctance or rejection. Hopefully he can see that there's anything but that within me, because I don't feel that way.
"I'm not like you, remember?" I laugh a little, smoothing my hands over his shoulders. "My reaction times are slower, I just need a few moments longer to process these things."
He still watches me, and there's still an agony in his eyes that I despise. I did that - that's my fault. "I'm sorr-,"
I scowl softly, because he shouldn't be lamenting anything. "If you apologise one more time I-,"
Apparently Harry has had enough of waiting. With his hands holding my face again, he presses his lips to mine. It's harsh and brash and yet I don't particularly care. He keeps his lips against mine for a moment, exhaling against me like it's the biggest relief he's ever felt. He's trapping my lips but I'm too overwhelmed (and not in a bad way) to care. My hands grip his upper arms, squeezing gently because in all honesty I'm also relieved.
He lets up a little but he doesn't completely pull away. He gently nudges my lower lip down with his, and then presses his lips around it so that I have his upper. His lips are so soft, better than I'd ever imagined and it's doing all sorts of sinful things to my mind. My stomach flutters so much that it's painful.
Harry still continues to kiss me, manoeuvring his way around both of my lips with his own. He still cradles my face, but he's much more delicate with me now. And I'm not necessarily planning on going anywhere anytime soon. Occasionally he'll simply brush his lips over mine before he envelops them again, his sweet breath fanning across my lips and cheeks.
At a moment where his lips hover, I wrap my lips around his upper and suck gently, pressing my body against his. I run my tongue along the inside of his lip, slowly and with purpose because I'll be damned if this is anything close to nearly finished. He inhales a sharp breath, and he drops his left hand to instead lock his arm around my waist. His hand grips my left hip where he's completely wrapped his arm around me, and his palm feels soft against my bare skin.
I whimper with desperation at this new close contact, and the urgency I've been filled with is possibly even a little overbearing. I twist my head with parted lips, and it's his tongue that finds mine first as he completely imprisons me against his body. And yet the last thing I think to be doing is complaining, because I've taken a fistful of his shirt to keep him closer to me. Our tongues mingle - familiarising themselves with the other - for an extended moment. We seem to be stuck to one another like this for time that grows immeasurable. I don't know how long it lasts, but all I do know is that I'm enamoured by it and I don't want it to end.
Harry's hand smooths from my waist and down to my bum, and as he squeezes it with just the right amount of pressure, he also presses my body completely against his. I moan, because I can feel it - that protruding weapon confined in his hose, and it rubs me in exactly the right place, the one that aches to be filled.
My neediness overpowers any and all sense, and I smooth my left hand back up his clothed chest to push my fingers through his gorgeous curls. It seems to dilute his attention somewhat, and I panic when he completely turns away.
I open my eyes just as he takes a careful hold on my left hand, and he lowers it a little to look at it properly. It's not an unusual sight for me to see my hand glow pink, but it is rare. I'm never filled with this much desire too often, and right now it's exaggerated multiple times thanks to the way this immortal makes me feel. And yet I'm not embarrassed, not in the slightest.
He rubs his thumb over the glow as he looks back to me, and I'm quick to force my lips back to his without his permission. He doesn't seem to mind.
"Take me to bed, Ambrose." I beg, my words spoken against his swollen lips.
He groans, holding my face again as he pulls at my lower lip with his teeth. "Nothing would please me more, my love."
I smile into his lips as we resume our kissing, already pushing his shirt up his torso. He remains with his mouth on mine until he absolutely has to pull away, before he finally lifts his arms into the air and allows me to remove his shirt, albeit stretching onto my tiptoes to do so. I throw the garment behind me, and then pull his lips back to mine by pinching his chin. His tongue falls back to exploring the inside of my lips, however his hands are busying themselves trying to take me out of my skirt.
I help him out, easing the waist over the curve of my bum and slip it down my legs, kicking it away before it can cause anymore trouble. I keep his lips on mine with a hand at the back of his head, sinking my fingers through his hair to his scalp. His emotions pour through me, and I'm utterly relieved to find that he seems to feel exactly the same way that I do.
He begins walking me backwards - blindly I might add. He's got one arm wrapped tightly around my waist as the other hand massages into my bottom. We're both lost in the way the other tastes and feels, even if this far nothing entirely sinful has taken place. I'm just utterly obsessed with the idea of him like this.
I can feel the side of my bed suddenly hit the back of my legs, and I carefully lower myself to a sitting position, using one hand to keep me steady and bringing Harry with me with my other by keeping his lips to mine with it. He crawls over me as I lie down, grazing a hand down the back of my thigh to my knee and hooking it around his waist.
I'm being greedy now - swapping between sucking and nipping on both his upper and lower lip in irregular and random intervals. The honest truth is I simply cannot get enough of him, because I want all of him all at once. No man has ever had anywhere near this kind of effect on me, and yet I feel nothing but empowered by it. A man should've made me feel this way years ago, and yet it's come in the form of a close and once platonic friend. What we're currently doing is far from platonic.
I use my heel to stroke up and down his clothed leg, still massaging into the back of his head with my hand as I drown in his kisses. The hand he has gripping my leg to his waist occasionally squeezes into my thigh, while his other has ventured north under my top to play with my breast. I've not been touched much at all recently, but I feel like no other man has ever touched me the way Harry currently does, and still this is completely innocent.
He grinds his centre against mine, causing friction between our bodies as his erection rubs against my desperate core. It makes me moan - a salacious noise that even I don't recognise.
Sitting back on his knees, he promptly glides my top up and over my head once I've sat back up enough. As I lie back down he kisses his way south down my body to my breasts, sucking around my nipple until it's pebbled and hard. As he does, he carefully kneads into both of my breasts as he continues to grind his crotch against mine.
I whimper desperately because it's not enough. I need him, all of him, and I need it now. "Harry, I can't wait any longer."
And with that he pulls back. He drops a harsh and swift kiss to my lips, before he easily stands from the bed, already pulling the laces on his hose. He's a little sloppy and feckless with the removal, which is unusual for his kind, and I wonder if it's really me that's having this effect on him. I refuse to believe I really ever could, and I'm certainly not doing it on purpose. He tosses the garment away, and with it knocks my only chest of drawers with his elbow. The vase on the top wobbles, eventually losing its balance and topples to the floor, smashing loudly.
"Buggar," Harry mutters, stalling slightly as he turns to me with a worried look, "I'm sorry."
I'm already shaking my head and reaching for him. "Forget about it, just-," I take his hand, giving up on my sentence to pull him back to me.
He doesn't seem to follow as he awkwardly climbs back over me, still paying a glance in the direction of the foot of the bed. "It was an accident-,"
I press my lips back to his, willing him to shut up and sink onto me to carry on where we left off. "I'll tidy it in a minute, just please bed me."
Harry looks to me studiously, his eyes searching my face again, before he finally latches his mouth back onto mine. He grips the backs of my knees and spreads my legs, before planting one hand right by my head, and easing his length into my wet core.
Finally.
And he doesn't waste time either. He adopts an even pace immediately as he begins to drive his hips into mine. His shaft stretches my centre so that it burns, and even though it's uncomfortable for the briefest moment, it unravels into something utterly sensational. If I weren't concentrating so hard on his lips against mine, I'd be recoiling into an unsafe hole in my mind.
His arm wedges itself under my back as he drops to his elbow, and the backs of his fingers caress the side of my face - a contrast to the pace he pulls as he thrusts repeatedly into me. I have my arms wrapped around his shoulders, my palm pressed to the back of his head. Our emotions are undoubtedly in synchronisation with each other, and it surely helps the flow between our hips.
Harry pulls away again, shifting our positions so that we're both sat up and facing one another with me in his lap. He holds himself up with one hand planted just behind him, and the other still caresses my cheek. I visually search his face as he does mine, and I swear I see him shake his head, but the action is barely noticeable and I could've easily imagined it.
"I know I've said it before," he pants, resting the pads of his fingers against my cheek while his thumb strokes my lips once more, "but you really are beautiful, Mage."
If my cheeks weren't hot before, they certainly are now.
He keeps his careful hold on my jaw as he reclaims my parted lips, and his tongue immediately finds mine. He's rough and delicate simultaneously. He makes me feel loved and also incredibly sexy, but in a dirty kind of way. And I don't mind either, because I'm internally torn - I want him to swaddle me with affection but also do whatever he wants to me like he would with anyone else. I know I'm being greedy again but I've never felt so enveloped by anyone like this.
My hand loosens but only to grip his hair, and he grunts into our kiss before he bites my top lip. Both of his hands glide down my back as his pace increases, until he's firmly pressing both into the cheeks of my bum. I can feel more of him somehow - he completely fills me. I groan because of it, melting against his frame like the wax on my candles. And I want to melt further until we're water - one substance together and utterly inseparable. Even after this is over I know I'll always have a piece of him with me.
"Fuck, Cece," he heaves, pressing a kiss into my chest, "I think I'm-,"
He cuts himself off and I begin to panic. He's what? Close? In love? Out of breath?
It appears he doesn't plan on finishing his sentence, so I carry on kissing him with my arms locked tightly around his shoulders. We remain this way for a while, and I begin to rock my hips in time with his. And it's ridiculous because any sense of being slowly begins to slip away the longer we do. We just keep falling and falling, further and further into one another without a bottom or an end. But again, I don't want it to end.
Harry keeps a hand on my bum while the other roams the rest of my body. He smooths up my back and along my arm, down my waist and then over my thigh. He strokes the back of his fingers over my soft stomach and up to my breast again. And then he drops lower, between my legs where a particular sensitive spot permanently resides.
He stops his kisses, but only to look between our bodies. I cradle his face as he wets his finger, and then he pushes his lips back to mine as he delicately rubs against that sensitive peak that's often paid little attention. I cry into our kiss, but only because it feels nothing short of wonderful. It's helping me along, something I probably need. I hold his lips to mine, mithering over the way he begins to flick against my little button. My breathing is growing erratic and short, all because a much-needed bubble of ecstasy is about to burst.
As Harry builds us up, I straighten up, pressing my entire front to his. He locks his arm around my back to prevent me from moving, his hand gripping my waist. I make an incoherent noise as the bubble surges to the surface, and I gasp when it finally pops.
I still entirely as my core throbs with the wash of my orgasm, but Harry still continues to kiss me in a tender fashion. And then he shivers, halting all movements suddenly, and his warmth pools into my core. I release a long and deep moan, my tense posture relaxing as his does, and we fall backwards until we're holding one another in amongst my tangled sheets.
We remain silent for some time - Harry stroking my arm and kissing my temple while I trace random patterns on his chest.
I can't help but smile. Eventually the magenta on my palm morphs into a bright sunflower tone of yellow. When it does, Harry lifts it to his lips for a soft kiss, and my body is filled with nerves all over again. We've already done the deed, so why am I nervous?
"I'm still thinking about that vase, you know." Harry mumbles into the quiet, and his hand smooths over my hair where it's tied up.
I laugh, and sit up just a little to look in that vague direction. "Still smashed into teeny tiny pieces." I assure him jokingly. "I'll do it in a bit. I'm quite comfortable at the moment."
He hums loudly with a satisfied sigh. "As am I."
"I didn't really think something like that would ever happen between us." I admit, my voice soft; anxious.
Harry is silent for a moment, but it feels contemplative. "I... always hoped something might."
I look up at him with a frown. "Really?"
He nods once, his smile only small. "Yes. I didn't necessarily expect it to happen, but I was definitely hopeful that it would."
I blink twice; dumbfounded. "Why?"
He giggles, wetting my nose with a kiss. "Cecily, you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. And you're also one of the most talented, most interesting and most selfless. Any man should be on his knees for your affection and attention. The minute I met you, I knew you were important."
I continue to frown, but only because I'm utterly perplexed. "I was always under the impression people thought me a bit dull."
"Far from it." Harry shakes his head fervently. "How anyone can call a well-travelled and intelligent - not to mention fanciable - woman such as yourself 'dull', I'll never know."
I giggle at his remark, covering my face with my hands. "Did you just call me fanciable?"
"You are!"
"If you say so." I'm still giggling, turning my head to bury into his neck.
His laughter is hummed but obviously amused. He strokes his hand down the back of my neck and pecks a kiss to my head. "I do." He murmurs lowly. "Utterly magnificent."
I remain with my face hidden in his chest, but his compliment has warmed me immensely. I cling to him as I fight off sleep, because even though the day grows late, I desperately don't want to sleep when I have Harry this way. It's not even that I want a repeat of what we'd just done immediately, but I feel like I might be taking advantage of him if I don't leave him with at least an ordinary conversation. I don't want everything to drastically change now that we've committed the biggest of sinful acts.
I think back to his arrival and how sleepy he'd looked, though it now feels like he'll be far from tired, when I'm the exact opposite. I wonder why he decided to travel with the Spanish, and why on a ship? He has the means to travel without such exhausting human transport built into his natural makeup.
"Harry, why have you travelled by sea?" I ask before I forget. It's not an interrogative question, though my voice was harder than I meant it to be.
"Christian has placed a temporary ban on broadcasting. So unless you're a shapeshifter, you're stuck with the human modes for now."
"Why is there a ban on broadcasting..?"
Harry shakes his head with a sigh. "I think it's just propaganda. I've only heard through other people but apparently the demons are snatching vampires in the middle of broadcasting and slaughtering them."
I sit up and look at him with concern. "Are you serious?"
"Well, I'm not completely certain but that's what it seems like. Boys just keep going missing, it's a little strange."
"You promise me you won't broadcast until it's been resolved?"
"Cece, if I was that stubborn and ignorant I wouldn't have subjected myself to months on a boat with the fucking Spanish."
I sit back a little with a scowl. "What's that horrible word you keep using?"
"What, fuck?"
"Yeah..." I grimace, but push a loose strand of hair out of his eyes.
"You don't like it?"
"No, it's vulgar."
He chuckles darkly, sitting up and taking a hold of my face with one hand, his fingers and thumb resting on either side of my jaw. "Strange. Women usually beg to hear me say it to them."
I roll my eyes. "Unfortunately for you Ambrose, I'm not like the women you usually bed."
"I'm not sure why you think that's unfortunate for me." His smile is irritating me. "I've already said you're the most bewitching woman I've ever seen."
My gaze narrows. "You should be careful what you say. If I wanted to bewitch you I'd have done it years ago."
"You already did."
I stare at him for a moment, and I know I'm being too literal which is why he's so amused. He kisses me again without warning, keeping his strange hold on my face. But because I'm stupid I don't fight him and I don't argue any further.
"I was under your spell a long time ago, Mage." He mutters against my lips. "And I'm anything but ashamed about it"
"I wasn't trying." I insist, crawling towards him again to sit in his lap.
"You didn't have to, my love." He brushes his lips against my cheek. "I was already gone."
~
A sudden downpour wakes me without preparation. I gasp a little at the sudden noise, the rain now crashing heavily against my little hut. The sounds ricochet through the hollow structure, making everything a little louder.
I'm lying on my side facing the front of the hut, and I can feel my bum lightly pressed against the wall. I peel my eyes open just a little and prop myself up on my elbow. With my free hand I rub at my tired eyes, noticing an absence next to me.
Harry sits in the doorway, his back against the right hand side of the door frame with his bare feet pushed up against the left so that his knees are bent. He's pulled his linen shirt back on but not bothered with his hose, but it's long enough that the fabric pools in his lap and hides his length well. He looks out towards the ocean, head tilted slightly as he studies the blue sky through broken clouds. He rubs at the back of his neck idly, and rests his head against the door frame with a soft sigh.
I sit up and take the sheet from my bed, wrapping it around me under my arms and holding it to my chest. I delicately pad my way across the small space, crouching down slightly beside him. Harry doesn't flinch when I replace his hand with mine, and smooth it upwards just into his hairline. He's calm; content. It makes me happy.
As he looks to me he wraps his arm around my waist, smiling lightly as he does. I sit facing him in his lap, resting on my knees either side of his hips and using his legs as a back rest.
"You looked peaceful sleeping and I didn't want to wake you." He admits, stroking the back of his index finger along my jaw.
I hum with a little grin, nodding my head towards the poor weather. "Rain did that for you."
"Might as well be back in London." He rolls his eyes, but I know he's jesting.
"It is the season over here for rain, Ambrose. And the storms will be far worse than anything either of us have ever seen in London."
"It makes no difference." He shrugs, and begins smoothing his hands up and down my bare legs. "The weather is irrelevant when I've got you. Everything is irrelevant when I've got you."
My insides shift in strange movements, and I feel like water meandering a river. I lean forwards to press a light peck to his lips, before resting my head against his collar. I look out to the beach as he had been moments ago, smiling when he kisses the top of my head. His arms wrap around my shoulders as mine do his back, and it just feels incredibly good.
"Hide with me for a while?" I ask, because if I get to have him this way for a while, nothing else seems important.
"As long as you want, my love."