Unfortunately, the rest of the evening was not romantic -- to say the least. When it came to hitting the hay, Deion was hunched over to the left of me and slept like a baby for the majority of the night. On my right was Harvey, snuggling his head into my neck and stroking my body with one of his hands. Max and Abby were huddled on the love seat, practically spooning. Although everyone else was asleep, my mind was racing. There was no off button. So, at that point, I admitted defeat and stared up at the ceiling fan. It went round and round, like a propeller. The longer I stared for, the more I found my head turning with it.
"You can't sleep either?" Harvey whispered, breaking the room's silence.
Shaking my head, I look towards him. "I might have a shower. Do you think it would be too loud?"
"Not enough to wake them up, I don't think," He flashed me a weak smile and laid back onto his own pillow.
As elegantly as I could, and without waking Deion, I maneuverered from the bed and into the bathroom. Switching the light on hurt my eyes, but this was the best way to spend my time rather than staring at the fan. Wincing when the squeaky pipes began gushing hot water, I pressed the door shut and began stripping. Abandoning my clothes on the floor, I hopped into the shower. The hot water kissed my body, like an old friend, and lathered me in its warmth. I scrubbed my body with the provided soap and sponge, once again avoiding the crotch area, and let a puddle cuddle my feet.
Suddenly, I felt another body press against mine. At first it startled me, because of what had happened with Deion's gang members in Bristol, but then I heard Harvey's soft, familiar voice come from over my shoulder.
"I need a shower too," He whispered, his smile radiating from over my shoulder. "Mind if I join?"
"You could've asked before you were already in here with me," I chuckled, facing my naked body towards him. "I suppose if you need a shower too-"
His hands were cold and wet. They felt the surface of my skin, kissing every inch of me with their fingertips. They were soft. Familiar. He felt from the edge of my stomach, across my chest and to my shoulders, then back down to my stomach, where he eventually held me. Mimicking his actions, with less confidence and sex appeal, I felt along his body until my hands hooked at the back of his neck. Pulling me closer, Harvey placed his lips on top of mine. Of full consent, I placed my palm onto his soaking wet face, cupping his cheek. After normally kissing for a few seconds, with the water still dripping onto our bodies, we began to drown in each other's touch. Pushing me against the wall, he squeezed my body against his, causing me to moan into his mouth. Our harsh breathing against the water caused condensation to fog up the shower window, reminding me of the car scene from Titanic. Although I wasn't Kate Winslet, and Harvey wasn't Leonardo DiCaprio, the moment was still as special.
The shower still dripped as I opened my legs to grant him access. As one being, we moved together in a familiar rhythm that I remembered quite well. Closing my eyes, I rested my bare body against the shower's cold tiles. Small moans escaped my mouth as Harvey caressed my neck with his mouth. First, just his lips were present. And then, as the climax got nearer and nearer, his tongue slithered from his mouth and plastered onto my skin. Finally, using his mouth and tongue, he gave me love bites as the moment finished, for a living memory that traced where he had been -- and where he would stay. I didn't need physical marks. I would remember that moment for the rest of my life.
After the shower event, we climbed back into bed. Deion was still soundly sleeping at the edge of the bed, which gave us more room. Harvey laid down first, and I went second. Laying on his chest was my favourite position to sleep in when we dated -- it was good to see that some things never changed. Closing my eyes tight, I begged for my mind to switch off. Eventually, it did. I drifted in between consciousness and the dream world, hearing flakes of Harvey's heavy breathing. When he thought I was asleep (in his defence, I was still half asleep and half listening at this point) he continued to stroke my hair. Feeling his gaze pan over to my face, I kept my eyes closed and attempted to stop myself from flinching. Quickly altering the position of my mouth, I didn't want him to look at me, all dreamy-eyed, and my mouth be open so wide that you could see my uvula. That wasn't happening.
YOU ARE READING
The Man on the Moon (The Man Duology)
Teen Fiction"If the man stayed on the sun for the entirety of his life and completely ignored the moon -- his happiness would soon burn out. If the man stayed on the moon and ignored the sun, his life would be dark and full of craters. However, if the man was t...
