AN: 10 (ok maybe 30) minutes is back! A little blurb based on this/this, and this song, and Harry’s love of sweet things.
He leans against you, one arm tucked around his chest, the other hand squeezing his own chin, making his lips squish together. He’s warm against you, smells like sunscreen and sunshine, and he’s comfortable. It’s not often he doesn’t know what he wants: he’s a man who usually makes decisions in record time, but right now, he’s at an impasse.
When it comes to ice cream, he doesn’t like to fuck around.
“Don’t know what I want,” he murmurs, shifting his weight a little and making you tip to the side.
“Harry, we’ve been standing here for fifteen minutes,” you reply with slight exasperation in your voice, huffing when he hip checks you. “People are going to think you’re picky.”
“I am picky, aren’t I?” He argues, slanting his gaze down to you before looking back up at the board. “Can’t jus’ pick one willy-nilly–could be a disaster.”
“You’re a disaster,” you chuckle, sliding an arm around his waist and giving him a squeeze. “I’m going to go order before the girl behind the counter expires…”
You let him go, stepping up to the counter with a wry smile on your face. The girl behind the counter had been wide eyed ever since you two walked in some twenty minutes ago, and you’re fairly certain all of cottage country now knows he’s here.
You’re about to place your order when you feel his hand against the small of your back, and then he’s right beside you once more, a very serious expression on his face. “What’s your favourite ice cream?” He asks the girl, who flushes pink and looks like she wishes the ground would swallow her whole.
You pinch his side, shaking your head when he laughs. He’s a menace.
She lets him know her favourites, pointing them out on the menu, and he pinches his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, plucking at it gently. “Like the sound of th’second one yeh mentioned,” he muses, nodding as if to say it is so decreed, and you groan inwardly. “I’ll have that, and whatever this one wants,” he tells her, hooking his thumb in your direction before turning to you with a grin. “Thought yeh said you were ordering–hurry up will yeh she’s not got all day….”
You scowl at him, blinking slowly as he goes to stand by the register, and you give your order to the girl, before thanking her for her patience. She smiles at you, bemused, and turns to make your orders.
You go to stand next to him. “I’m not going for ice cream with you ever again,” you warn under your breath, though there’s no heat to your words, and he laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulders.
You hold onto the cones while Harry pays, tipping the girl generously and thanking her once more, and you follow him outside, tilting your face up to catch some of the warmth coming from the setting sun. “Where do you want to sit?”
He takes his cone from you, and slips his free hand into yours, tugging you off the main strip and over to a bench where he thunks down none-too-gracefully, bringing you along with him. You sit in companionable silence, trying to eat your ice cream cones before they melt.
“These things are huge!” You laugh, bringing your hand up to your mouth to lick away melted ice cream from your fingers. “Do I have any on my face?”
He turns to you then, momentarily blinded by the sun before he focuses on you. “Yeah,” he smirks and licks over his lower lip before leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Some right there,” he murmurs against your skin, drawing his lips to yours to kiss you proper.
You momentarily forget about the ice cream in your hand, forget that you’re supposed to breathe, too caught up in the softness of his mouth, the sweetness against your tongue. He pulls back, and you take in a deep, shuddery breath, glad to know he’s in the same headspace when he does the same.
“That,” he says casually, turning back to his rapidly melting cone, “was better than ice cream.”
