Verboten

27.

Harry thoroughly convinces you to trust the approaching outcome of the next thirty six hours with his skillful and careful language and by distracting you with his tongue, resuming your former position against the rock and wrapping your legs around his waist to take you in the watery comfort of the stream.

His hips move in a similar rhythm to the current surrounding you; swelling, undulating and surging in long and smooth sweeps as if he were mimicking the beauty of the tide kissing the shore. He keeps your cheeks and jaw locked in his palms aside from the scattering of times he gathers a handful of breast or circles your sensitive bud, gradually bringing you to the brink in the most tender way yet.

His mouth attaches to yours and sucks your tongue into his mouth as you reach your peak together, your lips ceasing their movement when you both drop your jaws to cry out in passion, his pelvis freezing at the deepest point inside of you and his fingers tangling and tugging on your hair to manage his rapture.

He murmurs against your lips the depth of his love and commitment, the future he plans to carry out in your honor, the unending compassion that has a permanent chokehold on his heart. He releases himself from you and rolls his head back when you pump him back to abundance, turning your back to him and resting your elbows on the rock as you beg him to take you once more.

He fucks you a second time and weaves his fingers through yours, keeping his mouth pressed to your ear and whispering promises, praises and penchant as he tips you over the edge once again. You can't shake the eerie feeling of your lovemaking feeling much like a swan song, but you pray to every single god in the heavens above that Harry is simply taking precaution to express his worship before he sets off on the most important journey of his lifetime.

Your legs and arms stay locked together as you lay naked on the luxurious pile of soft blankets at the river bank, feeding one another canned peaches and napping in the pacific light that flickers through the leaves above you.

You wake some time later to the soft strum of Harry's guitar, his fingers slipping across the frets and his rings catching on the strings to force a vibration through the body. You lay still and simply absorb the moment of peace and idealism before you, his body clad in just britches that hug his husky thighs and slender waist, still-damp strands of hair masking his temples and dotting his cheekbones, his hat strewn on the blanket beside him.

He hums rather than pronouncing coherent lyrics, his voice gentle and sweet as if reflecting the honey that coated his throat from your meal. He licks his lips and locks his eyes on you, discovering your consciousness and smiling at the natural beauty that envelops your features.

You slip his hat onto your head and perch your body upon your elbows, your feet rubbing together before you clear your throat and join him in song. His facial expression buckles as if to convey pain and longing, quieting his singing and nodding along with the sound of your voice of which he's grown irreversibly fond.

He plucks the guitar as the final note is struck and places it aside before hovering over you, ducking below the brim of the hat you've nipped and sealing your mouths together in a loving embrace. Both of his large hands smooth down the length of your torso and back up again, his teeth clenching together in a hiss when he finds your eyes again, "it's nearly time."

Your back meets the blanket and your eyes close to fully absorb the sensations of him reveling in your body, your back arching towards him as he groans and slips his hands under your back to accentuate the curve in your spine. You pant when his lips close around your nipple, his tongue circling the stiffened crown before he repeats his treatment on your other breast.

His fingernails drag down the ridges of your backbone before the pads of his fingers soothe your skin on the reverse journey, his fingertips pinching the back of your neck as he kisses you once again.