#fancyharry

You wake up in the most ideal of conditions.

The sun is shining brightly, casting a warm, healthy glow on every crevice and corner of the room. The silk sheets of the bed rub deliciously against your bare skin, and the air that you breathe is clean and pure. You feel cozy laying underneath the duvet, and when you roll over, your nipples begin to pebble due to the slight change in temperature.

Though you’re disoriented at first, it doesn’t take you long to remember the circumstances under which you’ve found yourself. It never does. The sight of a certain curly-haired figure standing out on the balcony is more than enough to help jog your memory.

You sit up, searching the floor for the pair of lacy red panties that had been so urgently discarded the night before. Eventually, you find them at the foot of the king-sized bed, laying in a mangled heap. You reach down, fearing that Harry had ripped them, but a small sigh of relief leaves your lips when you find them still intact and slide them on.

As you approach the man standing on the balcony, you can’t help but to notice how good he looks from behind. His hair is windswept and messy, and you predict that he had woken up only a short time before you did. There’s a loose, black pair of basketball shorts sitting low on his hips, and his hands are holding onto the railing as he leans forward slightly. The muscles in his back are more prominent than ever, casting shadows along his skin. Under normal circumstances, you would have pinched the small bit of skin that bulges from the waistband of his bottoms.

But you can’t. Not only because there is no extra skin to pinch, but because these are not normal circumstances.

Harry tenses in surprise when you wrap your arms around his midsection, but then you press a soft kiss to the space in between his shoulder blades and he relaxes. His right hand leaves the railing so that he can cover both of your palms that are currently splayed out on his abdomen.

“Mornin’,” he greets, his voice hoarse from lack of usage.

You lean up to kiss the nape of his neck; the curls at the back of his head tickle your nose. “Morning.”

You stay like that for a while, your naked front pressed to his back, enjoying the feeling of his torso rising and falling with each breath. From the balcony, you have a perfect view of the beach, the white sands and the clear blue water lapping up against the shore. A few birds caw in the distance and you close your eyes, turning your head to the side and resting your left cheek against Harry’s warm skin.

After a few more tranquil moments, he clears his throat. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm,” you hum, keeping your eyes shut. “You tired me out last night.”

Harry chuckles, finally deciding to turn around. You step back, allowing him to move before you’re back on him, arms wrapping around his hips and breasts pressed against his front.

“Made you a promise, yeah?” he says.

Your eyelids drift closed as you remember the filthy words he’d whispered to you on the plane (“Gonna fuck you morning, afternoon, and night…you’re my wife now…gotta make sure you know that…”). You’d barely settled into the spacey villa before he was on you, taking you against the kitchen counter and leaving no inch of skin unmarked.

“Oh? Did you?” you ask, smiling impishly. Harry smirks, his dimple popping on his left cheek as he leans down and plants his lips against your forehead. You inhale deeply, your nostrils flooding with the scent of Tom Ford and something else—something that’s just so irrevocably him.

“I did, love,” he replies, pausing before adding, “Think my mum knew about it before I even made the decision, though.”

You groan, one of your hands coming up to slap his chest. Anne had driven you both to the airport the morning after your wedding, and though you had tried to cover up the numerous marks on your body, Harry had worn his proudly. Shortly before boarding, his mother had hugged him tightly before wrapping her arms around you as well, murmuring a few quiet words into your ear: “Don’t make me a grandmother just yet, alright dear?”

You had been mortified, and Harry had cackled on the plane once you’d told him.

“Shut up,” you mutter, pressing your face into his neck. You can feel your face heat up in embarrassment, the memory still fresh in your mind.

“Come off it,” Harry grins. “’S your fault…you marked me up good that night.”

“You didn’t have to broadcast it to your mum!” you hiss, but your words have no real venom behind them. Harry’s begun moving forward and you comply, your feet stepping back of their own accord. You re-enter your bedroom, and a moment later he’s pushing you down onto the large bed, climbing on top of you and growling playfully as you squeal.

“Just wanted everyone to see the marks my wife gave me,” Harry mumbles, slowly kissing up your neck. “My wife…”

You sigh, your left hand sliding up his back before disappearing into the tuft of hair atop his head. He lets out a satisfied noise, running the tip of his nose along your jawline. “You’re my wife…,” he says, as though the thought has only just dawned on him for the first time, “You’re my wife, love.”

“I am,” you concede breathlessly. “And you’re my husband.”

Harry groans, dropping down so that his forehead is pressed to your collarbone. “Fuck…that sounds so good.”

“Yeah?” you giggle as he nips at the sensitive skin on your neck, “How long have you been waiting for that?”

“Too fuckin’ long,” he tells you. You want to pout when he pulls away from you, his lips leaving your throat, but the way he fixes his gaze on you leaves you frozen and utterly stupefied. He’s looking at you with so much emotion in his eyes, it’s difficult to register every sentiment he must be feeling. You see adoration and tenderness and intensity and disbelief. Harry tucks his lips into a fine line as he just stares at you, and you offer up a small, tentative smile.

“What?” you ask.

There’s a beat of silence, and you can feel him turning the question over in his head and choosing his next words carefully.

“’M just…,” his lips quirk up into a good-natured smirk. “I’m really fucking happy.”

And okay. You hadn’t been expecting that.

But despite your initial shock, you can’t stop the corners of you mouth from pulling up into a beaming grin. Suddenly, your chest feels tight with emotion. It had snuck up on you, piling quietly until it had eventually overflowed, and you can’t seem to properly convey what you want to say.

“I—,” you swallow heavily, feeling your eyes prick with the faintest trace of tears. It’s like your throat has closed up, sealed tight and unbearably itchy. Your muscles are stiff and your eyes are moist and everything is just so much. Harry tilts his head to the side, waiting for you to finish your sentence, but at the moment, the simple task is an impossible feat.

“What’s wrong?”

God, even his voice is so utterly perfect. Everything about him is just…

“I love you!” you finally choke out, your voice thick with adoration. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You’re definitely crying now. It’s all too much—you feel like you’re living in a dream, where everything has miraculously worked out for you. You’re married to the love of your life, you’re happy, and it’s so difficult to fathom that this is now how you’re going to proceed. A single tear slips out from the corner of your right eye, trailing down your temple and dampening your hair.

“Enough of that,” Harry tells you firmly, his jugular bobbing forcefully in his throat. His eyes glisten slightly, and his blinks rapidly to keep his own tears controlled. “If you cry, I’m gonna cry, love.”

“Sorry,” you let out a wet laugh. “It’s just…I can’t believe we’re married.”

Harry smiles. “You’re stuck with me.”

“And I couldn’t be happier,” you say.

“That’s a lie.”

“It is not!”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” you nod, cupping his face in your hands. You lean up, seeking a kiss that he happily bestows upon you. Your eyes close and any residing tension in your body leaks out through your toes, which curl blissfully once you realize that Harry has yet to make good on his promise for today.

“Let me show you,” you breathe, pulling back only a fraction of a centimeter so that your mouths still brush together when you speak. “Let me…”

You trail off, sliding your hands down his smooth, firm sides and hooking your fingers into the waistband of his shorts.

Harry groans when he understands what you’re implying. He squeezes his eyes shut and his head drops down so that his forehead is pressed against your collarbone. He kisses your skin softly, his right hand moving from the bed to your shoulder. His fingertips trail along your arm before they veer off to the side, and you gasp breathlessly when he squeezes your left breast. He chuckles and flicks your nipple underneath his thumb, enjoying the stiffening of your body.

“You’re gonna kill me, you know that?” he asks.

“I know.” You exhale shakily.

With him distracted, it’s easy to flip the two of you over. Harry’s eyes go wide once his back hits the soft mattress, and he snickers when you flash him a grin. You reach forward—he positively beams when your breasts become level with his face—and grab one of the plush pillows at the head of the bed.

The look on your husband’s face when you drop down to the floor is priceless. You settle with the pillow beneath your knees so that they don’t bruise and then you lean forward, reaching for Harry and encouraging him to sit up. He scoots a bit closer to the end of the bed, his feet touching the ground and his legs spreading so that you can fit comfortably between his thighs.

“Love you,” you mumble to him, pressing a kiss to his left knee.

He discards his basketball shorts quickly, helping you to pull the material down so that it pools around his ankles. You smirk when you discover that he hadn’t thought to put on a pair of underwear before walking out onto the balcony. His cock bobs up—pink and thick and slightly shiny at the tip—and he hisses when it taps against his stomach, his abdomen tightening.

“Yeah?” Harry says, looking down at you with dilated pupils. “My wife loves me?”

“So much,” you reply, and without a warning, you wrap your hand around his cock and give his tip a firm suck.

“Fuckin’—!” Harry lets out a loud shout, evidently taken by surprise. “Bloody hell! Love you too, fuck!”

You pull back and smile, slowly moving your hand up and down his length. Your wrist twists expertly; after years of being with him—both romantically and sexually—you know what he likes. You’ve pick up on what makes him taut, what makes him moan, what makes him shoot into your mouth with his fists balled in your hair and a choked apology on his bitten lips. You love seeing him flop backwards, rub his face and let out a disbelieving laugh after he’s sent ropes of him down your throat.

Your thumb skirts over his slit, and Harry exhales through gritted teeth. He’s watching you intensely, his dark eyes trained on where you’re currently laving your tongue up his length, getting him wet so that you can glide your hand along his cock. He opens his mouth to say something, but at that exact moment, you take him into your mouth again.

“Good girl!” he blurts, his left hand flying down and tangling into your hair. “Doing so good for me, pet. Such a pretty mouth—love taking my cock, don’t you?”

You moan in affirmation, and you would nod if you could. Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself as you start sliding your mouth down the length of his dick, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around each inch as you take him deeper, deeper. His right hand reaches out to brush some hair away from your face, and he trails his fingers down your temple. It’s not long before he’s pressing against your cheek, feeling the outline of his cock in your mouth and choking out a weak, “Christ!” as his eyes roll up into the back of his head.

You’re quite enjoying watching him fall apart above you. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands—first they’re in your hair, then they’re balled up against his thighs, and then they’re rubbing his eyes as he fights and fails to regain his composure. Though tears are pricking at your eyes, you push a little further, and his tip slips into the back of your throat.

“Easy!” he tells you when you gag. “Easy, love, please!”

He tugs at your hair, and you reluctantly pull off of him, your lips swollen and your breath leaving you in sharp exhales. “I want you to cum in my mouth,” you tell him, your hand still twisting up and down his cock.

“Can’t,” Harry pants. “Gotta—gotta fuck you first…gotta—”

“Please,” you whimper, rubbing your cheek along his thigh like a kitten. “Please Harry. I just wanna taste it.”

He’s staring at you with wide eyes and raw, parted lips. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink, and there’s a slight crease in his brow. Right now, more than anything, you want to make him feel good. You want to treat him the same way he treats you, with love and respect and so many orgasms. All other thoughts have been pushed to the back of your mind, replaced by the single, primal desire to suck him until he crams his load down your throat.

“Christ,” Harry nearly sobs. “You kiss me with that mouth?”

You only then realize that you’ve uttered the words out loud.

“Please,” you merely whisper again before you’re back on him, sucking him with a fervour that you’ve never felt before. Harry’s head tips back and a guttural groan sounds low in his throat, and your chest tightens as you realize that he’s about to give you what you want.

“I’ll cum…,” he tells you, “I’ll cum in your mouth if you want it so badly…I’ll give it to you…”

You moan around him, your tongue teasing his head and dipping into his slit, and with a wordless shout, the first rope of cum bursts forth from his tip. You keep sucking gently as he rides out his high, your hand finding his hip and rubbing soothing circles into his skin. Harry’s babbling nonsensical words and reedy whimpers, and your stomach tenses victoriously. You wait until he’s given you everything before you pull off of him slowly.

His eyes remain closed, lips forming around silent words—praises, maybe, or even prayers. You give him a few more moments to himself before softly tapping his thigh, and gradually, he opens his eyes.

His irises are glazed over with pleasure, but you can tell that he’s coherent. Locking your gaze with his, your throat works around his load as you swallow, wiping the corners of your mouth to ensure that you’ve gotten every last bit.

“Fuck me,” Harry whispers incredulously.

“Later,” you smile gently. You scramble up, leaving the pillow on the floor as you flop down next to him on the bed, cuddling into his side as he fights for air.

“That was…,” he trails off, unable to find the right words. You laugh quietly, burying your face into his neck and pressing soft kisses to his sweaty skin.

“Mediocre?” you offer, and he barks out a hoarse laugh.

“‘Mediocre’?” he says, pulling back so he can look at you with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. “That was just…bloody…amazing.” He sighs happily, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “God, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you whisper, your noses brushing together. Harry hums blissfully before making a small, dissatisfied sound, realizing something.

“How am I supposed to fuck you now, huh?” he asks, only half-joking. “Don’t think I’m gonna be ready to go for at least another hour.”

“You can make it up to me tonight,” you say, nuzzling against him. “Just wanted to do this for you.”

Harry groans.

“You make it so hard for a bloke to stay mad at you,” he grumbles. He then presses a bruising kiss to your lips, followed by several playful pecks that make you giggle. “I’ve already broken my promise, love.”

“You’ll have the rest of your life to make it up to me,” you suggest. Harry’s lips part, as though he’s just realizing—yet again—that the two of you are bound to each other, now and forever.

“The rest of my life…,” he tries the words out on his tongue, and then smiles at you like you’re the reason for which the sun rises every morning. “Can’t fuckin’ wait.”

~*~