Concept: harry and the missus pre kids drunk and kissing in the back of the taxi, perhaps its a paris getaway and their staying at a beautiful flat all to themselves and the fun begins
Oh my goodness.
And they’ve both had so much wine and are so giggly and the kissing is a little clumsy and sloppy. Maybe it’s early summer so it’s just perfectly warm and balmy and it’s still light out even though it’s close to ten at night and there’s evening sunlight streaming in through the back windows, and they’re almost draped over each other. Harry pulls away just so he can press his nose against her neck to smell the sun-warmed perfume on the hollow of her throat. Hands sliding down her sides, cupping her hips, fingertips skimming her thighs as they peek out of the hem of her sundress. He doesn’t have to let his fingers travel any further to know how wet she is already. The cab driver is clearly unperturbed. They must not be the first couple who are drunk and in love in his backseat.
“You look so pretty,” he slurs against her skin. “Smell pretty too.”
She smiles, grazing her lips to his, so he’ll nudge his face towards her and initiate another kiss, which he happily obliges to.
“Yooour pretty,” she whispers. “Pretty eyes. Sooo green in the light.”
“Are they?” He’s got a smug grin stretched over his lips.
“Don’t call ya ‘Green Eyes’ for nothing.” Her hand slides up his thigh to palm him just below the front seam of his jeans, enough to make him whine against her lips.
He kisses over her mouth and then over the ridge of her jaw and down her neck. “Las’ time we came here, I didn’t kiss ya like this.” He nips at her neck with the edge of his front teeth. “Wha’ a fucking idiot, I was.”
“Took us long enough, huh?”
She feels him smile against her mouth. “Gonna make up for it.” His fingers cup under her jaw as he pulls her mouth to his, kissing her deeply.
When the cab pulls up to the terraced apartment that’s their’s for the week, Harry hands the driver far too much to cover the fare and begins to dig in his pocket for the keys.
Every light source in the house is outfitted with antique filament bulbs that glow so softly off the pale cream walls and the dark hardwoods. Harry puts on a record that fills up the already quiet room, and draws them a bath in the clawfoot tub that the missus had swooned over, full of lavender and rose oils and milk. Their fervent kissing has slowed to that which smolders slowly. Lots of fingers grazing across skin as clothes are removed. The taste of wine still heavy on their tongues, breathing deep, but quickening. Harry mouths at her shoulder as he pulls her panties the rest of the way down her legs.
“Look at how beautiful you are.”
She feels her cheeks grow rosy and warm under his gaze, and hides her face in his shoulder. It feels nice, to stand there holding each other completely naked. Warm, intimate, nothing rushed.
“So fucking lucky,” he coos.
She kisses him then, swirling his taste on her tongue and the softness against her own mouth.
“I didn’t do too bad either,” she whispers between them, kissing his chin.
They get each other off in the bath, before soaking in each other’s arms until it runs cold and loses its fragrance. They pull themselves from the tub and lay draped over each other on top of the fluffy duvet in the master bedroom. Harry announces that they indeed had, “Too much wine.”
The ceiling is made almost entirely of wide panes of glass, perfect for seeing the stars that are just becoming unhidden. They eat chocolates from the shop around the corner and tell each other stories until they fall asleep wrapped up together.