Nightingale

fifty

Soft curls, tickling me as they drag along my skin. Gentle lips placing kisses along my stomach, the feeling pulling me out of my sleepy state as the sunlight for the wide open curtains blinds me as I blink my eyes open. Harry continues to kiss all over my body, admiring each curve, freckle, mole, scar, everything that makes up my skin.

"Morning." I rasp out, my voice dry and scratchy from just waking up.

Harry angles his head so his chin is resting on my stomach, looking up at me with a cheeky smile and innocent eyes like I haven't caught him red handed. "Good morning beautiful, how did you sleep?"

"I slept pretty good actually. How long have you been up?" I rub the sleep from my eyes and slightly stretch, trying to ignore the dull ache of pain in my lower half from the week Harry and I have had. He genuinely wasn't kidding when he said I wasn't leaving our bedroom for the week. I honestly think this is the most sleep I've gotten all week, my nights being preoccupied with Harry in between my thighs or relentlessly pounding into me.

"Only about 10 minutes. I was just about to go make breakfast. How does an omelette sound?"

"Amazing. Am I allowed to come downstairs with you yet or am I still a prisoner to this bed?" I half joke which makes Harry giggle and try to hide his face by laughing into my stomach.

"I'm still debating whether or not I want to let you leave but, I have plans for us today so any other plans will have to be postponed for the time being." He places a couple final kisses on my stomach before pushing off to sit up, holding his hands out for me to grab so I can sit up as well.

"Plans? Care to elaborate on that?"

"I will after we eat love." Harry stands up in just his boxers and makes his way towards the door opening it slightly but still waiting for me to join him. I roll out of bed and search the floor for something to quickly throw on which has Harry firing at me, "don't bother putting clothes on, house is empty this morning."

"And if someone comes home? Then what?"

"Then they better not look if they'd like to be able to see for another day."

I roll my eyes at him and opt for the blanket that is resting on the chair in the corner of the room to cover my body, wrapping it around me like a burrito and grabbing my journal before heading downstairs with Harry. I plop down on one of the bar stools and watch as Harry gets everything together to make us both an omelette. He sets a pan on the stove and waits for it to heat up while he cracks 4 eggs into a bowl and starts scrambling them up. I open up my journal and stare at Harry for a few seconds longer before beginning to write.

November 25th, 2020

Dear Nightingale,

Like an addicted chainsmoker to cigarettes, I can't get enough of you. I can't get enough of your kisses, our lips colliding as our tongues dance their tangled tango. Sighs, halted gasps and moans as clothes fall to the floor.

Your fingers moved across my skin, flexing and tapping smoothly over the contours of my body. Like a master pianist playing a concerto. I'm the only song you want to play. My sounds are the only music you want to hear.

I can always write about what runs through my mind when I look at you, the way you make me feel, the way I'm absolutely obsessed with you but the moments when I'm truly stumped is when I wonder what runs through your head when you look at me. I could ask and maybe you will grant me a reply but words are merely just descriptions, never enough to fully describe the vivid thoughts, emotions and images inside of our heads.

You are the love that came without a warning label; you had my heart before I could even decide for myself and I would never change a thing. If you ever came to me with a face I have not seen, with a voice I have never heard, I would still know you. Even if centuries separated us, I would still feel you. Somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes of you and I.