in which...

...harry loves hickeys and y/n's skin is like a blank canvas

In which Harry loves hickeys and Y/N's skin is like a blank canvas  

Harry's always had a few share of things that he depends on in life, things that he knows he couldn't go without for more than a week. He can't get out of the house without having a hot shower in the morning, the kind that steams up your entire bathroom and makes you feel all woozy and sleepy. He can't go anywhere without his journal, his hands feel empty without the black leather notebook and his body gets all fidgety when an idea pops into his mind and he can't just write it down.

He can't go without the smell of lavender for more than a day, because it brings him comfort and it reminds him of home and he can't let go of that, he grasps onto anything that reminds him of home as much as he can. And the one thing that he loves most in this world, the thing that always brings a smile to his face and a certain pang of happiness into his chest is the deep shade of purple.

He's loved it ever since he was a kid, always drawing his animals and stickmen with a purple crayon, ripping out pages from his aunt's books of galaxies and constellations, stuffing them under his pillow and looking at them at night before bed. It's an odd thing, but ever since that one time Gemma had pushed him off a stool and made him bump his hip pretty badly, he didn't even mind the pain of it when he woke up the next morning with a deep purplish bruise. He loved the shade from the moment he saw it, looked so pretty imprinted into his skin.

That's probably why that obsession he had as a little boy with the certain shade has transferred into his adult life. He loved purple bruises, loved hickeys sucked deep into the skin, loved to see the process of them fading away and becoming a blank canvas once again. But most of all, he loved giving hickeys.

Y/N noticed that about him really quickly after they'd met. Noticed how when they kissed, he would suck a bit harshly on her bottom lip, before kissing it softly to soothe the pain away. He would always trail his kisses down her jaw, kissing down the crook of her neck and onto her shoulder. His lips lingered most on her collarbones, fingers tightening their hold on her hips as he looked to be in deep thought.

It didn't take long from the beginning of their relationship for him to start doing things that indicated he loved marking her body up. From when he first let his teeth graze over her jaw and how he licked at the tender skin of her neck, biting onto it softly. The first time he ever gave her a hickey was in a vulnerable moment, when he had her legs over his shoulders and wanted to bury his face in her thighs for the rest of eternity. When he pressed his hands down onto her hips to keep her in place and waited for her to come down from her high. That's when he let his lips wander, kissing the flesh of her inner thigh and sucking on it, leaving a soft bruise behind.

She quickly discovered he adored the look of hickeys on her skin, made him feel like he always left a piece of himself behind on her. Her thighs were also his favorite place to mark her, loved burrowing his face in there for a while, just nipping at her skin, finding comfort in the way her calves dug into his back and in the fresh scent of her lavender moisturizer (which she wasn't the biggest fan of, but she knew it definitely was a favorite of his).

That's why when he went too long without her, he felt like it was slowly driving him insane. All he could think about was how he wanted to taste her sweet skin, he wondered how the love bites he left last time he saw her were healing; were they all gone? Was that deep one he placed on her shoulder still there? Did she get all tingly and itchy like she usually does a couple days later when her skin stopped feeling overly sensitive?

When she first told him he needed to lay it low with leaving his marks all over her because people started to ask questions, he felt like there was nothing worse she could have asked of him. Said her mom noticed one of them on the inside of her thigh when she wore a pair of shorts, thinking they must have faded away, but there was one still there that she hadn't noticed. She had no idea how to explain it and totally got mad at Harry, not letting him touch his lips to her skin for at lest three days, which felt like a lifetime to him.

But this; this was pure torture. He hadn't seen her in over a month, his lips were tingling with desire, from the moment he stepped foot in the house he wanted to just scoop her up, throw her on the bed and have his way with her. But she had completely different plans, and totally didn't fall for Harry's pleading eyes and needy grabs. Said Anne was waiting for them to go over for dinner, wanted to spend some time during the holidays together and Harry couldn't say he hated the idea; he loved his mum, more than anything, but God he might just love the sight of Y/N's skin a tad more at the moment.

But he waited, although he felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin, he waited patiently because he knew that if he was good to her, he would always get something in return. So he was a good boy, sitting patiently at the dinner table, a hand over her thigh, squeezing onto it every time he took a longer look at her and felt disappointed that her skin looked so blank, so lifeless without his lips attached to it.

It's not until later in the night, when they're back at home and she falls onto the bed after changing into something more comfortable (which consisted of one of Harry's large white tees and some fuzzy socks), that she is ready to go to sleep. Harry quickly throws his phone away and crawls in next to her, nudging her shoulder with his head so she would let him cuddle into her arms.

When he's just lying there, head hiding in her hair, he breathes in the scent of her shampoo and tries to focus on that instead of his carnal desires. He knows that if it were by him, he would have already had her panting and whining underneath him, but she's tired so he doesn't want to be too harsh on her. Wants to be slow, but also just wants to have a taste of her already.

He lets his lips brush back and forth over her collarbone, kissing her lightly before deepening it. His teeth graze over the warm skin, leaving soft red imprints, tongue darting out to lick at any marks he might have left behind, but before he can actually get his lips to suck the hickey he desperately wants to lay on her skin, her fingers tug at his curls.

"Should really stop doing that," her voice is soft, laced with sleepiness and a bit of slurring from the glass of wine she had that night and it just makes Harry want her even more, "I know." She whispers, brushing the hair away from his forehead when he looks at her pleadingly.

"Please, moppet," he squeezes needy at her waist, "haven't seen you in so long, just wanna-" he sighs frustrated, a whine escaping from the back of his throat- "just lemme, please."

When she doesn't say anything, he takes his chances and moves closer to the edge of the bed, kissing down her body, stopping at her hips. Her knees lift up and that's Harry's cue to let his body rest in between her thighs. He doesn't do anything for now but leave tender kisses everywhere his lips can reach. He rests his head on her belly and looks up at her through long lashes with a small pout on his mouth.

"Pretty please?" He brings her hand down to his face and presses kisses on each of her knuckles, not once breaking eye contact.

"Just a few." She bites on her lower lip after contemplating the answer for a minute.

"Oh baby." He sighs happily, relieved that he can finally indulge into her.

He bites playfully at her hip and makes her giggle before letting his lips suck into her skin, a deep moan erupting from the back of his throat. Fucking finally. She quivers underneath him, playing with his hair as he closes his eyes in pure pleasure and digs his fingertips into her thighs.

He knows she is enjoying this as well, knows how she loves being held down, loves it when he quite literally fucks her into the mattress and is all rough with her. Is absolutely sure she loves the way he sometimes places his hand on her throat as he whispers filthy things in her ear, pressing down a little, not too harsh (because he could never bare the thought of hurting her in some way that wasn't enjoyable) and getting her all breathy and teary eyed.

That's why he knows that whenever she says "just a few" she never means it, because after begging for so long, she would do anything to make him happy. Even if it meant having his head in between her thighs all night long.