Daddy issues || h.s

2.8

She woke when the light that flowed through the window fell upon her face. She looked around the room. It was exactly how they had left it the night before; clothes scattered on the floor and flowers in a vase on her bedside table. An arm was wrapped around her, and she could hear soft snores coming from where his head was buried in the nape of her neck. He still had flowers in his hair, and somehow they looked fresh, as if someone had watered them during the night.

Slowly, as to not wake him, she brought her hands to his hair, and brushed a couple of soft curls out of his face. In his sleeping state, he looked peaceful, blissful, as if there was not a care in this world. His long eyelashes hung upon his cheekbones and his pink lips were parted slightly as he drew in breath after breath. She could feel his heart beat in his chest, and to her, the sound was music.

She could think of no lovelier thing than the boy who lay halfway on top of her. She could think of no softer thing than his curls. She could think of no prettier thing than his soft, clean skin.

She stroked his cheekbones, and his eyes fluttered open. They were drowned in sleep, and for a moment, he did not know where he was, but the he felt the smell of oranges and vanilla tickle his nose, and he knew he was home.

He felt her thin arms wrapped around him, and he left a small kiss on her neck.

"Good morning," he said, his voice raspy from sleep.

"Good morning," she said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than you could have ever imagined." As he spoke, he left small kisses along her chest, small butterflies landing on her soft skin, and she felt the stars from the previous night shine on her body. He kissed her lips, and lay back again, his fingers playing with the ends of her hair.

His eyes swept over the room, again noticing the unfinished sketches on the floor. Most of them were too far away for him to see what they were, but some were not. And on the white pieces of paper, he could se black lines dancing together, forming hands and faces, patterns so exquisite and detailed they must have taken hours to make. Eventually his eyes fell upon an easel in the left corner, a blank canvas was perched on it, and with its blank front, it seemed out of place.

"It's been there for years," she said, as if she knew exactly what his eyes were trained on. "I have wanted to paint it ever since I got it, but I can never seem to decide what I want to put on it. So I have left it clean, wishing that one day, my mind will crack open with this brilliant idea, and the paint will pour down on the canvas like water from a waterfall, and all I will have to do is close my eyes and follow my heart." She drew in a breath as she spoke, as if there wasn't enough air in the room. "Sometimes, I think I have found it, but as I lift my brush, something inside of me breaks, and I can never get it to kiss the canvas. So I let it fall, and the paint splatters the floor, leaving countless of small drops, as if it was blood and not paint. And then I grab a piece of paper, because paper doesn't seem as permanent, and I draw the lines in black and white, and they turn out beautiful. But not as beautiful as they would have done if I had poured them onto the canvas." The room fell silent as the last words tumbled from her mouth, and for a while, all they could hear was the sound of their breathing.

"Have you ever considered becoming an artist?" he finally asked her, and he saw her face light up at the sound of his question.

"Yes, there is nothing in the world I would rather be. But I don't think I could ever be a painter. You see, when I grow up, I want to become a tattoo artist. I want my works to live on peoples skin, so that it can breathe fresh air, and be seen by everyone. And then I want it to die, because nothing lasts for ever, and eternity bores me." Her eyes shone as she spoke, as if the sea inside of them had fallen to rest, and now reflected the magnificent galaxies above it.

"Why am I not surprised," Harry laughed and kissed her. "Have you ever tried tattooing someone?"

"Oh yes, for the past eleven months, I've been Leo's apprentice, and I cannot tell you how many oranges I had to decorate before he let me move onto actual skin. Leah was the first person I ever got to tattoo, and then Leith let me do it too. Kieran was supposed to get one, but he changed his mind at the last minute." Passion radiated from his lovers body as she spoke, and he could not help but feel rays of sunshine erupt in his mind at the sight of her.

"Do you think you could ever give me one?" He asked, and she smiled.

"Of course," she said and sat up in bed. The sheets fell off her, leaving her naked from the waist up, and he could again see the magnificent artwork that was her body.

"What would you give me then?" He said.

"You sure are giving me a lot of trust right now." She said, and he kissed her hand.

"I would trust you with anything, you know that." He said, and a couple of pink roses bloomed on her cheeks.

"Here," she said and kissed his wrist. "I would give you an anchor. And here" her lips touched his forearm. "I would plant a rose." Her lips travelled upwards, to the inside of his arm, right above his elbow. "Here I would pant a heart, a real one, like the one beating so fast in my chest at this moment. And here I would give you a ship" she kissed his bicep. Her lips felt light as a feather and heavy as gold at the same time.

"And here," she said, as she kissed his collarbones and draped one leg on each side of him so that she was straddling him. "I would give you two swallows." Her head moved down towards his belly. "Here I would give you a butterfly."

"A butterfly? why?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Because you give me butterflies in my stomach." She kissed his belly once more, before her lips touched his hips. "And lastly, I would decorate your lovely hips with laurels." Her lips were so close to him, he felt himself growing hard, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"I'm sorry," he said, but she placed a finger on his lips.

"Don't be," she whispered, and kissed him tenderly before lowering herself onto him. She took his hands in hers and started moving her hips. A low moan escaped his lips and she let her head fell backwards. Her hair cascaded down her back and she closed her eyes.

She looked like a goddess, with the sun shining upon her small frame as she moved her hips slowly against his. His whole body was on fire, and he sat up, crashing their lips together in a red supernova. His hand caressed her breast and she let out a small sigh, his name escaping her lips in a moan.

"Harry," she said, her head falling upon his shoulder. Her eyes were still closed, and her thighs were shaking from pleasure. She felt his hands in her hair and the other one on her hip, his soft fingers rubbing circles into her skin.

There was no rush in their movements. Sleep still fell from their eyes and if he had not felt her hot breath against his neck, he would have thought this was just the dream hanging around him still.

They moved like the ocean, but this time she was the sea and he was the shore. Wave upon wave of pleasure rolled over them, and with a last moan, he let go. As she felt him twitch inside of her, she found that she could hold it no longer, and her body shook with pleasure as she let her feelings take over.

He lay back, and she buried her face in his chest. As they lay there, listening to each others hearts, the flowers in their chests wrapped around them, and shielded them from the world and the terrible things in it.