Savior

The Boy that Leaves

Something inside of me that had long ago died is suddenly lit aflame as soon as his lips meet mine and spark like an erect match.

It was sudden and yet, no so sudden, seemingly something that had been building and building in the last few months with each stolen glance and gentle caress.

And for the first time in a long time my mind is clear and though I should blame it on the alcohol I have a feeling I am more intoxicated by the way his soft lips caress mine gently, but assertively. The way I can feel his heart racing beneath my palm like a hummingbird. This way his hands are shaking slightly as they wind themselves into my hair.

And I am so shocked and unsure that I can only provide a minimum amount of pressure against his lips at first, but when I feel his warm tongue gliding across my bottom lip I am revived.

I can't think about the ramifications of his lips on mine or his hands trailing my body and leaving a fire in their wake. I can't think about the fact that this is Harry who is kissing me and what that means or why.

All I know is that I never want to stop.

Now it's my fingers that trail up his quivering chest, his neck, and up into his wild curls, gripping them tightly.

He groans at the contact and takes the opportunity to trail his hands down my body, grazing the curve of my breasts and dipping into the concaves of my ribs before settling on my hips and gripping the flesh tightly – afraid to let go.

He is a flame and I am on fire.

All rational thoughts had evacuated long ago and all I can concentrate on, all I really care about is how gently he holds me against him as if I could break at any moment and I don't blame him.

With the way my heart is hammering in my chest and how heavily I'm breathing, I'm sure I might break also.

So very slowly he pulls away, my bottom lip a captor between his teeth until he releases it and it snaps back into place with a soft moan crawling from my throat.

His hands are still on my hips and mine are still tangled in his hair and the air between us is full of heaving breaths and unspoken words and through the dim light of the city below, I can see the emerald in Harry's eyes darken and look at me like he never wants to stop and my heart swells in my chest -I'm afraid it might burst.

"Harry."

The breathy whisper is carried away by the gentle breeze and I'm not sure what I'm asking or what I want, but Harry does. Harry does.

Because his head is dipping down again and his tongue glides into my mouth and he pulls me towards him in a swift motion, causing my leg to swing over his lap so that my knees fall on the grass on either side of his legs –straddling him.

This kiss is different.

The last kiss was gentle and cautious. This kiss is sure and passionate and unrelenting.

And as soon as I am sitting in his lap a low growl resonates from Harry's throat and I swear everything goes white.

All my senses revolve around him.

He smells coffee on Sundays and eggs in the morning and wilting daisies and fresh pine and like someone I can trust.

He feels like hard muscle with a gooey center when I trail my hands down his arms that flex around me.

He tastes like rum and sunshine and his petal soft lips remain gentle and affectionate on my own, his tongue tracing every inch of my mouth as if to brand himself there while his hands stroke my thighs in a calming manor.