Lonely Nights // H.S

24. *

for all you lovely lot celebrating ramadan, i want to warn you that there is sexual content in this chapter. i've put an asterisk where it starts and finishes, but the characters remain undressed for the remainder of the chapter and there's a lot of kissing throughout. Ramadan Mubarak!! <3
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'I'd bottle the feeling you give me

And shelve that stuff for years to come'

*

"Just sit still, please!"

Harry hates having sketches made of him. He likes to have a conversation, to be free to touch me when he wants, not the distance and quiet that comes with sitting still and letting me get the right lines and shading.

Every image I produce lately is of him, though, so it really is muscle memory at this point. The curve of his body, the shapes of his eyes, the plumpness of his lips. My hands remember them all, perfectly imprinted into the muscles and bones, as if he is entirely a part of me now. I think he always has been, and I've always known it, but only now do I get to accept it and breathe it as if he were my oxygen.

He's laughing, until he's quiet, attentive eyes focused on my body with only his shirt covering it. "You look very sexy like that," he says.

I raise an eyebrow. "Like what? Dressed in your clothes? Drawing? Telling you off?"

He smiles and moves from his spot on the windowsill. "All of the above."

"You're quite greedy, aren't you?" I tease. He steps closer, moving onto the bed and kneeling in front of me.

"When it comes to you, yes." He takes the sketchbook from my hands and delicately places it on the bedside table, his hands moving to smooth up my thighs before he leans in for a kiss.

*

I like these kinds of kisses, the ones where we can feel the other's smile, growing so wide as the exchange continues until your mind is somewhat jumbled and all you can think about is the way their lips move against yours. One that feels like bliss, then heat, then release. One that promises so many more.

Perhaps it is because of all the anticipation, the desperate waiting for one another over the years where we convinced ourselves it was entirely unrequited, that makes moments like this so much more intimate. Wanting something that was so much more than friends but being too scared to even try, and we watched life pass us by as if we were frozen on the carousel while the people continued walking around it. We waited for it to move, hands shaking as we stared at one another from a distance, but the moment we got off the ride and started taking those steps towards each other time suddenly moved into motion and it felt like we were awake for the first time in so long.

"Harry," I breathe out. His hands have moved to my face, then my neck, then my shoulders in a desperate attempt to rid the material from my body. "Was once not enough?"

He laughs at this, nipping at my jaw. "Never. Want more, always."

My hands are in his hair, instinctively finding a place that seems to perfectly fit them. He likes when I tug on his hair a little, a low groan at the back of his throat followed by the heavy breaths. I like feeling those fan across every part of my skin until I'm too restless to stay still. "More of what?" I ask, though the answer is perfectly clear.

He smiles down at me, creating some height between us. His hands push my hair away from my face, and he studies it the way he always does when he just needs a moment to think about his words. When his pupils become slightly larger, but not necessarily with lust, rather with something much deeper. When they move between my own, my lips, the scar on my face. Small details like he's creating his own journal of memories to hold onto. "The sun," he says.