Inclination

Garnish, Gardenia, Good Mornings

On Monday he brought you home in the morning, the sun finally rearing its head in a cloudless lapis sky and its rays reflecting off of Harry's shimmering lime eyes and opalescent moonstone ring. Icicles dripped as the brilliant star in the sky shrunk them, trees weighted heavily with snow and several parked cars remained neglected and piled with powder in the early morning light.

He walked you to your door and kissed you, begging to allow him in for a quick romp but you told him you'd need at least twelve hours to recover from Sunday's residual ache. He groaned and pointed both of his index fingers to his crotch, asking what the fuck he was supposed to 'do with this thing around children' to which you promised him that when he was sticking a thermometer up a baby's butt it was sure to disappear on its own.

You worked from ten in the morning to ten at night, kicking your shoes off at the end of your shift and chugging a glass of wine in the restaurant kitchen before driving yourself home. It was so busy that you hardly had any time to think about Harry, let alone contact him on your breaks like you normally would.

When you're finally in the solitude and tranquility of your silent car surrounded by snow drifts and ice, you take deep breaths and exhale thick smoke as you try to navigate home as quickly as possible so that you can call him and invite yourself over for the evening.

Your apartment is quiet when you let yourself in; you poke your head around the kitchen, the living room and into your roommate's bedroom before you decide that he must have gone out for the evening. You peel your shirt from over your head as you walk in a hurried path to your bedroom door, grabbing the cordless phone from the kitchen, pressing the power button and dialing Harry's home number as you lodge it between your ear and your shoulder and listen to it ring.

You kick your door open as you fumble with the button of your pants, screaming in shock and allowing the phone to slip from your shoulder when your eyes are frozen in the realization that your bedroom is unrecognizable.

The floor, ceiling and every surface are saturated in a hundred opaque pastel rose balloons, their white ribbons having been curled with scissors and dangling from the ones inflated with helium and resting against the ceiling. You finally gasp in realization and swim your way through the ocean of latex, careful not to burst any with your feet as the surroundings of soft pink fill your chest with elated tears.

Your hands push ribbons aside as you walk through the wall of decorations and when your eyes finally land on your bed, the sight of Harry dressed in all black and sitting on the edge of your comforter hedged in an atmosphere of blush has your jaw dropping in a burst of ecstatic laughter, "Dr. Styles! What have you done?"

He grins and pulls himself to his feet, his jaw working a piece of gum as he opens his arms for you to fall into, "happy birthday week, pretty girl."

You scoff in joyful surprise, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him so tightly that you wish you could pop him, "I cannot believe you did this." You cup his cheeks and kiss him with a hum, your palms flattening against his stomach before smoothing down and grasping his center, "it's beautiful. Thank you."

He moans into your mouth and traces a knuckle down your bare chest, "s'nothing. Thanks for making my job easy." He's referring to you already partly disrobing and then he picks you up and tosses you onto the bed behind him, you're squealing when the balloons scatter into the air before descending around you in weightless puffs.

He toes his boots off and dips his knee onto the bed before hovering on top of you, his dimple carving his cheek when you giggle and wrap your limbs around him to flip him underneath you, "how'd you get in here?"

His hands slide up and down your back before catching on the band of your bra, his fingertips unhooking the clasp then sliding the straps from your shoulders, "roommate and I had a chat. He's staying out for the evening." His breath is sucked into his lungs at the sight of your revealed chest and he's suddenly uninterested in conversation when he uses his bent legs to pitch you forward and latch his mouth onto one of your nipples.