Flightless Bird || l.s. ✔︎

ACT III: CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A/N: This is the continuation of the last scene. I've taken a risk with this chapter and I'm nervous about posting it. I've written a long note explaining my choices at the end.

Warning: SEXUAL CONTENT

"Do you still sleep on the right side of the bed?" I asked, trying to conceal the excited quiver in my voice.

"Do you still prefer the left?"

I laughed. "Yeah."

I drew my shirt over my head while Harry carefully unbuttoned his. He placed it on the back of my desk chair along with his gold ribbon tie. We both took off our pants. We were wearing similar black boxer briefs but mine were sporty, cotton, with a blue band while his, like his shirt and tie, were silk. I had seen his undressed body in the studio earlier that day, but in this moment, in my bedroom, he was a different creature to me. The darkness of the room had made his limbs appear softer, his flesh supple like the fine silks he wore.

He turned down the covers and felt the fresh sheets.

"Were you expecting this to happen?" he asked.

"I wanted it to."

He climbed in bed and I took a moment to admire his body before I climbed in after him. It was a miracle this body. The most celebrated body in the whole world. It looked smaller and more fragile when it wasn't in motion, like the precious beauty of a hummingbird at rest.

We both got under the covers.

Harry was right. We weren't boys anymore. We were men. There was no coyness between us--just want and a longing that would not be ignored. At least I couldn't ignore it. I wanted to touch him. When I reached out to stroke his cheek he gave me a pointed look, his chest rising and falling heavily. I had absolutely no idea what he was thinking. Did he stay over just to sleep or did he want more?

I could always tell what he was thinking when he was younger. He had a cheeky grin plastered across his face when he was happy or amused, and pout when he was troubled. Now he was unknowable. The only thing I knew for sure was that he was here, half naked, in my bed.

I flirted shamelessly. I couldn't help myself. On my side, propped up on my elbow, I smiled, batted my eyelashes—he always liked my long lashes—and fawned over him. I let my fingertips graze his tattoos and guessed the meaning of each one. He had a lot so this was the perfect game. After going over the tattoos on his arms and delicate hands, I traced the butterfly on his diaphragm with my finger.

"Metamorphosis," he said.

"You think you've changed?"

"Haven't I?"

"You were always a butterfly to me."

Harry tried not to smile at this line but I could see his dimples.

He shifted closer to me and I felt myself get hard. He felt it too. He didn't move away. I pressed myself against his hip and he turned to face me, his breath on my lips. I thought he was going to kiss me, but he spoke: "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Always."

"Von Rothbart isn't my favorite character in Swan Lake."

I burst out laughing. Naturally Harry would choose this moment to start talking about work!

"Let me guess," I said. "Odile?"

"No. My favorite character is Prince Siegfried."

I furrowed my brow in confusion. "Why didn't you choose to play him?"