minishaw one-shots

dubai (part 4)

warnings: smut and cheating (7519 words)

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Harry woke up to the sensation of fingertips gliding over his bare skin, lazily tracing every rounding and indentation they could find. He took a deep breath, slowly exhaling through his nose.

"We need to leave in an hour," Simon informed him, his voice low and raspy, sleepiness smothering his vocal cords like thick honey.

"Okay," Harry replied in a soft tone, felt empty as the fingers continued outlining the shape of his flesh. He stared at the white sheer curtains dancing as a warm breeze entered the room, words from the previous night echoing through his head.

"Are you angry?" Simon asked him, letting his digits run across Harry's ribcage.

"No, just thinking," Harry answered, kept his back turned to the older. He wasn't sure what he'd find if he rolled over, the look that would be present on Simon's face.

"Oh," Simon let out, slid his hand down Harry's arm and pulled the younger into an embrace. Harry sighed as he felt Simon's naked body press up against him.

"Care to say it out loud?" Simon prodded.

"This can't ever happen again," Harry said softly.

"I know," Simon sighed.

"I think we should back off a bit," Harry suggested, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I don't want that," Simon whispered, pressed his nose against Harry's back.

"Me neither, but we need to," Harry let out.

"We can't just move on like nothing happened, Harry. It won't be that simple," Simon said, voice muffled against Harry's skin.

"We have to at least try," Harry replied. Simon kissed the space between Harry's shoulder blades before pulling him in further, nuzzling his face in his neck, and Harry wrapped his arms around Simon's. He was hoping their flight would be cancelled so he could hold onto this feeling a little longer, but miracles don't happen. He knew Simon would slip right through his fingers, the moment they would step onto British grounds again.

"Promise you'll talk to me if something is bothering you," Simon said sternly.

"I will," Harry reassured him, knew he was lying because how on earth could he ever tell Simon that he was constantly thinking about Simon's confession from the previous night, dying to know if it meant the same to him as it did to Harry.

During most of the flight home, Harry silently stared out of the window as he watched the seas and the lights of the cities, kilometres below them. Simon fell asleep against his shoulder at some point, looked absolutely exhausted. He had asked Harry if he wanted to talk to someone about what had happened, Cal, or perhaps Ethan, said he trusted them, wanted to make sure Harry wouldn't bottle things up. Harry had declined his offer because he couldn't tell them he was desperately in love with Simon, thought it would only make a bigger mess of things.

"You can always talk to me if you want. Don't feel like it is unmentionable, once we get home," Simon had then said, and Harry had just smiled at him, thanked him. When they parted ways at the airport, Simon pulled him in for a hug that lasted a little too long for friends.

The apartment was dark when Harry entered, it was already after midnight, so he assumed Cal was either out or already asleep. He went straight to his room, leaving his suitcase in the hallway. The holiday was over, the lives they had built in London hadn't changed a bit while they were gone, welcoming him like things would just go back to normal, but Simon had said it wouldn't be that easy, and Harry feared he was right.