Inclination

Gifts, Grapefruit Juice, Glum Dissolutions

Some how and in some way, Harry convinced you to go clubbing on the next Friday evening. Full on dressing-up, paying-a-cover to-get-inside, dancing-pressed-up-against-strangers and stumbling-into-a-cab-home clubbing. You meet Harry at his house a few minutes before ten in the evening; your mini, fitted, midnight black bodycon dress matches your pointed-toe stilettos and you rub your hands up and down your arms to warm up as you wait for him to answer his door.

You knock again but when there's no response, you choose to try the knob and let yourself in. Soft music is playing from his bedroom and you call his name as you journey down the hallway, but he's still unaccounted for when you poke your head into his room.

"Harry?" You glance around his tidy personal space, a fluffy and clean sheepskin rug positioned in the center of the room and his bedspread falling evenly across each corner of his mattress. Your piece of shit portrait still hangs on his creamy wall, an endearing gesture that continues to snake a hole into your stomach whenever you think of it.

"Ace!" Your attention is drawn to his closet where he's stepping out shirtless, his devastatingly tight black jeans snuggled firmly against his hips where two botanical tattoos grow from the waistband of his briefs. Your eyes smooth along his torso to each one of his sizable tattoos and you're realizing that you've never seen him shirtless before and didn't realize the extent of his artwork. Or his muscle structure.

A black button down shirt is tossed over his shoulders and it's so tissue-light and see-through, that he may as well not even wear a shirt in the first place. He closes exactly two buttons on the center of the placket to draw the sides closed as he walks towards you, lifting his arms for a hug and pulling you into his body, "mmm..."

He rests his head against yours and sways back and forth, the heat of his chest roaring through the frail fabric of his shirt and oozing into your skin as you let your eyes fall shut amidst your cuddle, "hi," you reluctantly step off and scan his body, "you look and smell bangin'."

He smiles but his laugh is a bit halted with distraction as he shamelessly stares at your body hidden behind a measly stretch of fabric that edges at the top of your thighs, "Jesus, you..." His hand lifts with his index finger pointed to the ground in a slow twirl as a silent demand for you to spin. A blush flames the sensitive skin of your cheeks as you turn around and then burns brighter once you hear him hiss, "holy fuck."

Your sight is tossed over your shoulder to get a glimpse of his face and when you find it set on your ass and the back of your thighs, your core tugs with two sensations. The longing to push him down on his bed and straddle his thighs and the vain hope that there is a shred of desire towards you buried somewhere in the depths of his belly.

"You're definitely getting laid tonight. I'll be on the prowl for you, pretty," and then the foolish pipe dream that rocked your core an instant ago is laughing in your face as it soars out the window.

In a moment of rare brazenness, you're taking three steps to close the gap between you and pressing your body against his, your eyelashes flitting upwards as you lock eyes with him. Your bottom lip is sucked and bitten into your mouth before you release it and Harry watches every movement you offer him closely, not feeling discomfort or awkwardness by any means.

Your mouths are inches apart when you speak, "who are you gonna find for me?" The sensation that boils in Harry's tummy can be best described as a charm of hummingbirds and it baffles him. You can tell by the expression on his face that his body is having a physical reaction and that is precisely what you wanted to know, but neither you or Harry can explain what that feedback means nor what it will signify for the both of you.

Harry loves the shade of cinnamon spice lipstick you chose to wear, "what do you like?" Your insides knit and purl with his flirtatious response, unsure of whether he is alluding for you to be forthright with your attraction towards him or for you to be honest about what you like in other men.