(we're a) Fine Line {HS}

XXXVI - Contribute

The day of the first interview arrives, after some days. Harry got dressed quickly and is now supposed to be downstairs having breakfast. I, having already done that in the first place, am in the bedroom, standing in front of a big wide open wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear today.

I don't really need a gala dress - I'll be behind the cameras anyway -, but I don't think I could go as casual as I normally do for such an event. I start shifting the hangers to the side one by one, looking for the tight tops I bought the other day when we went shopping.

After trying two of them, I take the last one, saying to myself they're all great and I'll just go with this one. I'm not really a person to wear this kind of clothes very often, so there's a bit of surprise when I see my own reflexion on the mirror on the door of the wardrobe. Then I reach for my white cream vintage denim shorts and mach the black fabric on my torso.

I look in the mirror and I smirk to myself, studying the way I'm left with my chest bare, the thin straps climbing up my shoulders allowing it not to be too much, and thinking about how Harry doesn't quite know about the existence of this piece. Not wanting to take any longer, I close everything up and make my way downstairs.

In the living room, I stop at a little table next to the couches, messing with my bag to see if I have everything that might be needed. Soon I hear the kitchen door being opened and, somehow, my heart manages to skip a beat. But I don't hear much more movement, so I look up to it. He's there, leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, the twisting of his shirt giving his pearls necklace a messy shape around his neck, looking at me while pursing his lips.

"What?" I ask lowly, a smirk starting to take over my expression making me look down again, as I know very well what his is about.

"You know, you really can't hide it when something's on your mind." He says, a smirk evident in his voice too, at this point.

"You're not quite the one to talk, too."

"Is that so?" He replies, detaching himself from the wall and starting to walk calmly towards where I stand. "What am I thinking about, then?" He adds as he reaches me, rounding my belly with his arms from behind me, pecking lightly on my naked shoulder.

"I don't know, you tell me." I dare him and he bites my skin very softly, thinking for a small moment before grazing his lips up my neck, intaking strongly as if I'm the air he needs to survive. At the same time, his hands shift as to grip my waist properly against himself and, as he reaches my ear, he talks lowly at it "You look hot in that shirt."

I let my head be leaned to the side, at his moves, and smirk even more as I reply equally lowly, ironically surprised, "Even more?". He chuckles in a heavy breath and hums in agreement.

"And what are you going to do about it?" I add, very much aware of my intentions, turning my head a little bit more in hopes of finding his lips. But my thoughts are drifted away when he slides his hands up, placing them over my breasts determinedly, pushing them up just a slight teasing bit. My hands instinctively meet his large ones and I feel the texture of the rings he wears on them as I breathe in and relax against him. I allow myself to be kissed and massaged, for some moments, only turning around when I feel his excitement starting to be a little too much.

Our lips meet, at last, and Harry immediately pushes me back onto the table when our tongues do the same for themselves.

"They should be arriving soon." I manage to say, when he shifts his kiss to my chest and I feel goosebumps at the pleasant contact. I do it, warning him not to go too much farther, only because we were explicitly told not to make our ride wait too long. Not because I don't want him to, in some way.