Blurred Lines // h.s.

Blurred Lines: Met Gala Rewind

Originally posted to Patreon just after, sharing for all now. Enjoy x 

"Can you believe...?"

You rolled over, propping yourself on your elbows, and Harry peered at you, one eye open and one eye shut, squinting into the sun streaming through the window behind you. The arm of his that hadn't just slipped from your shoulders was thrown over his head and his fingers played through his own hair, combing and pulling the curls that were too long by now. Too long because it'd been seven weeks since you'd been holed away together. Seven weeks? Eight? It was hard to count anymore.

"Can you believe you were here for the Met Gala a year ago?"

He shook his head. "No quite a year."

"Not yet," you said. "Next week, though? Right?"

One corner of his mouth lifted with a chuckle and he nodded. "Feels like...." It felt like forever ago — all that's happened in a year, all that'd changed. You stretched out beside him, landing a warm kiss to warmer skin before curling up, and his arm returned to your shoulders to pin you to his side. Smirking, you wriggled against him to relieve the ache in your breasts from where they were pressed into his ribs.

"Which outfit was your favorite?"

"Of mine?"

You nodded. He was silent above you and you traced soft circles and figure eights on his belly until his hand slapped down on yours.

"They're both... I mean, I don't really know if I thought about it like that. They were different — different purposes, different... d'you know what I mean?"

You nodded again but didn't say anything until he asked, "What about you? Did you have a favorite?"

"The one on the carpet."

Harry barked a laugh but it sounded incomplete. You'd seen the photos — many of them, most despite your efforts to not look, because he'd been news. He'd never set foot at a Met Gala before, and when he did, he was a co-chair. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Mmm."

"How come?"

"How come what?"

"The carpet one," he asked. "How come? What's special about it?"

Lips ticking up, you squeezed his midsection. "It was sexy." You twisted and found him staring at you with unwavering intensity. "You looked sexy." A simple declaration, buttoned with a kiss just underneath his nipple, that he already knew — you knew he knew, because it wasn't like you'd be naked in bed with him otherwise — but it crackled in the air between you. "You looked... like a man," you breathed, "who knew what he wanted and that he didn't have to try, you...."

Harry blinked quickly, gulping, and you giggled mischievously before biting your lip and curling up against him again. "Kind of wish I'd been there. Could've taken full advantage."

"Y'didn't tell me," he rasped. "If I'd known—"

You snorted. "Anna Wintour wasn't going to let me in. Besides, we weren't there yet."

"I'd have asked," he insisted. "Figured out some explanation, gotten you in... Alessandro would've loved t'dress you...." He trailed off and you could hear the daydreams of the different hints he'd have tried to drop for his friend about what he'd like to see you in spinning through his head.

He wouldn't have — couldn't have — and you didn't hold it against him. "We should watch all the highlights," you teased. "To celebrate next week. Maybe see if the liquor store will deliver?"