Interlude [h.s]

fifty-eight

Short-lived win. A single moment in which the pulls turn to push, and Alouette is holding onto the rope too tightly to let go in time.

Harry's touch feels like lightning, it sets her skin alight wherever it grazes her. His fingertips are hot, they leave a burning trail in their wake as they slide down her sides. His weight is on top of her, even though he's holding himself up on one elbow. If this is what drowning in his kisses feels like, she wouldn't mind sinking to the bottom of the ocean with him.

Alouette's head spins and her soul aches, his mouth kisses down her jawline. He gently sucks on a spot on her neck, and she doesn't know if her heart can take it this time around. It isn't the first time they're so close to each other, but this time around it feels forbidden. After everything she's done to him she deserves to be screamed, cursed at. She doesn't deserve his favour. But it feels so right, and she doesn't want to push Harry away just yet. She wants to get lost into his touch for just a while longer, forget about everything and anything just for a second.

For a moment, she wonders what would've happened if they'd met under different circumstances. For some reason, she thinks they'd still end up right here, in this very moment, because circumstances are the only thing that doesn't seem to matter when it comes to them. She's been falling for him since she still believed it was her duty to kill him, and he's accepting her even through she's a traitor and a liar—the two very things he claims to despise.

They should hate each other, but they really can't. Probably, that's where they both went wrong since the start. The web of untold truths and intrigues around them is getting even tighter, Alouette can already tell. She doesn't even know who's doing whose game, at this point.

Her hands are in his hair and his are gliding up her thighs, and it's nothing like that dark, hateful kiss they shared under the rain. He made her kneel in front of him to beg his forgiveness then, and it looks like he's just found another day to bring her to her knees for him.

Kissing him doesn't feel like falling anymore—she wonders if it's because she's already crashed. There's no wind in her ears, no tell of danger—just the deep silence of the depths of the ocean. No, she's not falling—she's sinking, deeper and deeper with every second that goes by. This time she knows her actions won't fall into the void—if she kisses him today, there will be consequences tomorrow, the day after that, in a month, in a year, in a decade.

It means something. She cannot erase it, she cannot ignore it. Is it really Harry making her sink deeper now, or is she the one pulling him down with her?

He moans against her mouth when she pulls him closer, and the sound excites her. She has power over him just as he does over her. She can make him feel in ways he's never felt before, she can shatter his soul just like he shatters hers.

She remembers their first kiss, back in the Palace. She remembers his dishevelled look and the way it'd made her feel to see him like that. She smiles. He's just as hers as she's his.

She kisses him harder, his tongue delves into her mouth and her heart is beating so fast she fears it'll break out of her chest. Her cheeks are hot, and so is his skin in the places it comes in contact with hers. She wants to take off the layers that separate them and drown in the way his body feels against her, on top of her, in her. Her hands slide up his back, under his shirt.

He halts for a moment, and then grazes her bottom lip. "Do you want me to take it off?" he murmurs into her ear, his breath is rushed.

Yes, Alouette thinks, but the word doesn't make it to her mouth, because another thought does. Does he truly want her as much as she wants him, or is it just another one of his tricks?