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summary: in which; Harry can't help but be enamoured with his on-screen wife.
trigger warnings: sexual content, mature themes.
word count: 12.3k
includes: mention of sex, mention of oral sex (female receiving), actor Harry, co-star Harry, written in the third person.
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
"Darling, you're driving me crazy." he burrowed his head into the space between his wife's shoulder and neck, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling the tips of his eyelashes brush against her heated skin.
A lazy grin found itself on the man's lips when a docile mewl escaped her own, and he pressed his bruised pillows against her pulse point in gratitude to the praising sound. He mouthed at the skin softly until her head rolled back on her neck in her position in front of the window, heaving breaths flaring from her nose. It fanned over his skin just before he straightened his spine and looked into her eyes, his unfocused gaze sending shivers down her spine.
His hands took position on her hips and tugged harshly on the fuchsia-coloured fabric encircling her body, pulling her against his chest and away from the dresser digging into the backs of her thighs. The man seemed to like the unconscious response she gave him, having transpired in the form of breathless whimpers and hearty flutters of her hands against his body. She brushed every area desirable to her hazy mind (which ended up being every reachable part of the man's body), and only settled her hands on the broad stretch of his shoulders when he nipped at the skin behind her ear. Freckles were scattered along the soft skin there and he took pride in knowing such a small, intimate detail that was unknown to the woman in his arms.
His hands travelled backwards and splayed against the small of her back, pressing her to him until her ample breasts were level with his chest. The altered position caused her hands to slide up his shoulders and rest in his hair, brushing the baby hairs at the nape of his neck and scratching at the scalp beneath his impeccably gelled hair.
With every part of him pressed tightly against her, the breathless woman swore she could feel the beating of his heart through the barrier of his chest and the pristinely-ironed fabric blanketing his skin. The thought made her smile, lips curling joyfully against the side of his head.
She was reluctant to pull away from this contact, the feeling of her husband pressed so contently against her one she cherishes on any day—but the craving to have his lips against her own overpowered the desire of proximity. A strangled moan disturbed the silence when she acted on her desires and withdrew from him, unaware that her lower stomach had brushed his cock as she did so. The contact gained her a clenched fist and a rough push to her hips, nearly tearing the fabric of the dress she was wearing as he pushed against her until she was nearly toppling over, pressing her back against the dresser behind her.
