Meet Me In The Hallway

Waystation

The Next morning, my big day of laundry did not happen. As happens when touring with a massive amount of people and months of travel ahead of you, I had completely forgotten what day it was. There were stretches where I wasn't even sure what country we were in when the sun rose, and we were confined to the British Isles so far. My head spun when I thought of the future. I always found out our location though. While all the boys were at sound check, I often wandered down to the front desk of wherever we had slept and asked for recommendations. I had told myself the night before when Harry had revealed that he was saddened he never saw their surroundings a little secret. I'm not sure I had consciously admitted my intentions to myself. I wanted to see wherever we were for him. I would be his eyes and ears. I already made it a point to see something of the place I was along for the ride to, but now I was going to see it and document it. So that I could share it with Harry. I hoped it would be a balm instead of salt in the wound.

I woke up that morning in much the same position I had fallen asleep in. Harry was long and lean and warm, pressed against me from knee to shoulder and his face was in my hair.
As I expected this situation, hoped for it really, I did not wake with a start this morning, instead I snuggled down into the white linens and his embrace. My bed sharing habits were nonexistent and this was only the second time I had woken up in his orbit. The first had been ruined by my freak out. That morning I cataloged my awe. The white duvet was pulled up and over our shoulders, creating a cocoon with just our heads emerging. The air around us was softly scented with human smells. Warm skin and soured breath. Instead of being off putting, I was mildly disappointed that I was not facing Harry, that I did not have access to his breath or a view of his face. His exhalation rumbled our and stirred my hair faintly, like a light breeze coming off the ocean. I was still in my y shirt and shorts and harry was in his pants, so only the skin of our legs were pressed together. I, by some small favor of heaven, was not someone who had to shave everyday. I had heard many of my friends bemoan their prickliest, and I did get them, but they grew slowly and the two days since I'd slicked the bands of metal over my limbs were recent enough to keep them at bay. Harry did not shave his legs. For that I was thankful.  I could feel his wiry, coarse hair, sparse though it was brushing against my legs as I stirred. It reminded my of  slipping my legs into sweats after the sun went down at the beach, when a chill has started and salt stuck skin needs warming. The little nubs smooth over your legs and provide a barrier from the crisp air.

The current situation was without chill. Harry was a good ten degrees warmer than the air outside our blanket tent and I relished it. My toes pressed into his and I tried to think about the way each individual part of my body felt so close to his. I had just gotten to the way my hips fit into his pelvis when my loud thoughts must have stirred him.

His arms tightened around me and I could feel his inhale. The next thrill came when he stretched along my back. Those were all new feelings. The leg between my own ran along me like a pumice stone and the muscle of his thighs bulged in the space between my own. I was trying to not notice what my sit bones were pressed tighter against when his back popped loudly.

"That sounded uncomfortable," my hand reached behind myself unconsciously and rubbed his lower back and he made that sound again, my new favorite noise, the purr when he was petted, so I rubbed at the spot until he spoke.

"That's dead nice, Mel. Could you?" He rolled towards me and I moved from under him as he stretched out on his stomach. I sat up while trying to keep my hand on him, laughing at the awkward positioning.

"What exactly are you wanting me to do?" His position was indicative, but I wasn't sure what exactly he expected. Was I to broaden my rubbing or give a full on back massage?

"Could you just," he motioned to his lower back then pointed further afield.

"Harry, I'm not on your payroll, nor am I in any way qualified to massage anybody. Does Mark do this?"