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Just Another Saturday
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His eyes stalk her as she crosses the kitchen and yawns. This blonde goddess that's made herself at home in his life is a vision. She's barefoot, her hair is tussled, her face bare, and she's wearing one of his shirts and nothing else. This is his favourite version of her; completely natural, completely comfortable, completely his. He's never thought of himself as a possessive man before, but when it comes to Harry all bets are off. She's changed him or tamed him, he's not sure which and he doesn't particularly care. He just knows that she belongs with him, and he has no plans of letting her go.
He thinks he's loved her for a long time. If he puts his mind to it he can probably trace it back, but right now it's not that important. He loves her, and he's pretty sure that she loves him too, and that makes him stupidly happy. He hasn't said it yet, but then neither has she. He will, when the time is right. The time will be soon, he thinks, because it's getting harder to hold it in. It's getting harder to rationalise holding it in. Until then, they'll continue living in this little bubble of bliss that they've built; this little bubble of bliss that has him giving thanks every day.
She notices him looking and smirks; she knows what she does to him. His Harry is a terrible minx sometimes, and he loves this playful side of her. She's not shy at all about telling him what she wants, or hell, even showing him. He's having some of the most adventurous and amazing sex of his life, and it's all her. The intimacy that comes with that, from the way she touches him, the way she trusts him, is a gift he never knew he was missing.
He reaches for her arm and swings her onto his lap.
"Yes?" she teases him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
He has one hand on her thigh, the other inside her/his shirt. "That's my shirt," he growls, and she gasps as he squeezes her breast.
"Do you want it back?" she offers, and kisses him thoroughly.
His voice is still rough as he replies, "Nah. Keep it. It looks better on you anyway." And then he picks up his game and makes her come twice before breakfast.
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The sex is phenomenal. She's not sure if it's just him or the combination of him and her together, but he makes her feel things that she's never felt before. He plays her body like a fine instrument, and she sings under his touch. She does things that she's never done before, in places that she's never dreamt of before, and she's more self-possessed and empowered for it. She tells him what she wants, what she needs, and he encourages her to vocalise every desire she has. He's a generous lover, who takes genuine pleasure in pleasuring her, and she's well aware of how lucky she is.
She's pretty sure that she loves him, and equally sure that he loves her, although neither of them have said it yet. She thinks he will say it soon, though. Because he looks at her like she's the only thing in the world that he wants; like she's his muse, his touchstone, and it fills her with so much joy that she thinks her heart might just burst.
This, this feeling of completeness, this is what had been missing from her marriage. This is what's been missing from all of her relationships. And maybe that has been partly her fault, because she's never been one to trust easily. She's always held something back; she's never fully committed, has always been too afraid. But she does trust James, and because she does she's able to lose herself in all these new feelings and sensations, knowing that he will be right there beside her for the ride. It's an aphrodisiac in and of itself, and that's something that she's still getting used to.
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She's finally dressed in something that doesn't make him hard just by looking at her, and is busy composing a grocery list over the bench. He comes and stands behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder. He scans her notes and smiles when he sees that she's added his favourite crisps (he's getting better at using the lingo, but they will always be chips to him) to the list.
"Anything else?" she asks, chewing the pen thoughtfully. She's still adorable, but she's adorably sexy when she's absent minded.
"Looks good."
"You ready?"
"Let's go."
He's spending his Saturday grocery shopping and running errands, and there's nothing else he'd rather be doing.
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She watches him struggle not to order a cream puff with his coffee, and laughs when he fails miserably and buys two.
"Oh shut up," he says, reading amusement all over her face. "If you eat the other one the calories don't count."
She loves getting dragged into silly conspiracies with him; he makes her laugh – a lot – and that's a big part of the attraction. When he's not hunting down bad guys or grumping over surveillance, he's a genuinely funny and fun-loving man, and she hadn't realised how much laughter was missing from her life until he rolled in and added a few laughter lines to her face. She doesn't mind the added lines though; she is absurdly happy these days, all because of him.
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They've enjoyed a day of domesticity; they've paid the bills, picked up the dry cleaning and been food shopping. They've held hands and browsed shops, purchased some books and wine, and meandered over what feels like half of London. They've argued over whether the toilet seat should be left up or down, deliberated who would win Wimbledon, and debated the pros and cons of monarchy versus republicanism. They haven't had to draw their weapons or arrest anyone once, and it's been a welcome respite.
They're back at Harry's; the groceries have been put away and they're taking a quick shower together (to save water, Harry. You don't think I want to be wet and naked with you, do you?) before heading out for dinner and a movie. He plans on feeling her up in the theatre. She plans on letting him.
And they both plan on spending Sunday in bed.
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