Aerial

The Twenty-Eighth Chapter

Each sweeping ascent towards the heavens is saturated in blazing hot sunshine. Rays of precious life, glowing streaks the color of linen, parchment and bone, depositing kisses of color upon your shoulders and the tip of your nose. You're barely swinging your legs and it's a mystery as to how your momentum remains with such serene ease, but for once you don't think to question it.

Each sweeping descent towards the ocean is saturated in a refreshing brisk breeze. Wisps of beloved freedom, invisible gusts the scent of salt, cotton candy and maraschino cherries, accumulating prickles of devotion against your back and the ends of your hair. You're barely grazing the water below your toes and it's a mystery as to why there's a swing set in the middle of the ocean, but for once you don't think to question it.

"Higher!"

The rope below your sweaty palms burns and begs you to let go, but for some reason it seems impossible regardless of the near-constant, needling torture that aches more with each passing second. The swing that carries you is uncomfortable, although somehow safe and manageable, the roots of galvanized steel on either end digging deep into the sand in an effort to keep you lodged in place. You know that if you just put in a little effort and pump your legs that you could be soaring straight into the sun, but it's frightening to be all alone out here in the middle of the sea with a thousand possible outcomes for a landing spot. When your eyes pinch shut to effectively block out the cawing seagulls and the roar of the unshakable waves around you, you can feel yourself floating closer towards the warmth above and it feels so good that you never want it to stop.

"Jump!"

Harry stands below your swing set waist deep in the perpetual ocean, composed with his arms outstretched towards you in a soothing promise to catch you as soon as you're ready. And since you trust him, you don't even bother to take in a full breath before you're letting go as soon as the swing reaches its apex, your limbs flailing as you soar through the air with nothing but butterflies in your stomach and blind, lusty faith in your heart.

Somewhere between your release from the swing set and a crash into the never-ending sea, your silky sleeping mask is drawn away from one of your cheeks for a sudden glimpse of shadows outlined by the threat of dusk, a head of moppy waves and a set of languid, half-lidded eyes hovering over you. One corner of Harry's mouth pulls into soft smile before he rolls his lips together and slinks his tongue out to moisten them, his fingers pulling the mask off of your head and slipping it onto his own to shield his eyes from you.

Your immediate, involuntary reaction is to giggle and melt into his chest, his heartbeat stuttered and muffled by the dull roar of deep affection. He loves teasing you just as much as he loves kissing you, but he thinks what he loves most is how effortlessly his goading rolls off your back. It would never seem that way to outside eyes or even to him when he was begging for mercy for weeks, but you're so easy and graceful with love that it forces him to sink deeper and deeper into your endless stretch of quicksand in the hope that so long as he sinks, he'll suffocate and happily perish in cherry-flavored rapture.

With his keenly pointed nose and heart-shaped lips peering out from below the thick layer of silk, it seems as though he's practically begging for a kiss. Your fingers weave into his hair to pull him closer, your mouths brushing together just once before you tenderly nip at his bottom lip, "I was having a dream."

Usually when he wakes you up like this, he's impatient to peel your mask off and feel his stomach flutter at the sight of your sleepy, adoring eyes, fully absorbing the notion of how you trust him enough to dream beside him each night. However, this morning he's feeling particularly raunchy, with residual drippings of your sensual slow dance before bed floating through his drowsy mind. Or perhaps it's because last night you bravely played with the notion of sleeping topless admittedly for the first time ever. Harry had a wickedly difficult time falling asleep and using his palms as a makeshift bra at the same time, and after a bit of tossing and turning, he was finally able to wrestle himself into unconsciousness. But today, he's going to draw you a little farther out of your shell and he knows it, he can just feel the impending lure vibrating in the air and his cock is aching at the thrill of possible culminations.