a short little non-smutty post wedding blurb for a couple that i refuse to torture this fourth of july?
***
Harry sighs in relief as he falls onto the bed, staring upside down at Annaliese who’s silently taking her earrings off. She makes a noise at the back of her throat and rubs her earlobes, setting the earrings onto the bedside where they make such a heavy noise, a frown pulls onto Harry’s face. He turns over and crawls halfway to her.
“Your poor ears,” Harry says.
“They’re lovely earrings, though. I’m happy your mother trusted me with them.” Harry sits up just as Annaliese turns her back to him. “Could you, please?”
Harry’s fingers gently undo the clasp of her locket, letting it fall into her awaiting hands. Before she turns back, he brings his lips down, pressing them to her bare shoulder. Annaliese shivers, leaning back into him.
It’s nice to sit in the silence for some time. Their wedding was loud and near overwhelming by the end. When Harry signaled it was time to leave for the hotel, she all but ran over to his side.
Harry takes a soft breath. “Was this day how you thought it would be?” His fingers follow the round shell of her ear. “When you thought about your wedding as a child?”
Annaliese leans back into him more until he’s resting against the headboard, his arms around her. His hands rest on her hips, and in the soft candlelight, she can see the gleam of his silver wedding band. She pulls her own hands forward and wiggles her fingers, her wedding ring catching in the light.
“No,” she admits softly, “this was much better.”
“How did you want it?”
His voice is a soft rumble behind her. She drops her head back against his shoulder. “I always wanted a big wedding. But I think I always knew that was wishful thinking unless my husband had a large family. In France, there’s not many of us. Though I cannot say I never imagined my own parents not being here.”
Harry kisses the top of her head. “We’re going to see them soon.”
“Yes. They’ll love you.”
“I hope so.”
“It’s impossible not to.”
“Did you assume you’d be marrying a Frenchman?”
“Not really. I just didn't think I’d be marrying an Englishman with such horrendous French.”
Harry only smiles. “And did the size of our wedding bother you?”
“Not at all. I rather preferred it this way. And what about you? How was this day for you in comparison?”
His arms tighten around her, thumbs brushing against the corset of her dress. “It was perfect, my love. I’d live this day over and over if I could.”
They sit in silence again, Annaliese very aware of Harry’s lingering hands. At some point, he turns his head and starts kissing her cheek, and then her jaw, and then her neck. Her eyes flutter shut, tilting her chin back so that his soft pecks can evolve into passionate, warm kisses. Her hands find his, gripping his fingers tightly.
“Harry,” Annaliese whispers, opening her eyes. She stares up at the hotel ceiling, a fire so desperate in her lower stomach, she cannot ignore it any longer. “Help me out of this dress, please.”
He hums, detaching himself from her neck. When she glances back at him, she’s delighted to see the fire in his eyes, curly hair falling in beautiful elegant waves against his forehead, a smile so tempting on his lips, it’s near impossible not to throw herself at him. Perhaps he sees the look on her own face because the smile turns into a devilishly handsome grin, and he murmurs, touching her bottom lip fondly, “Don’t look at me like that, ma femme.”
Warmth blooms inside Annaliese’s chest at the words. Shakily, she turns around and lets him work on the buttons of her wedding dress, though she’s quite sure that with every exposure of her skin, his hands falter. She smiles, biting down on her lips to avoid making it obvious how much she adores this part.
“Is that okay?” Harry murmurs against her hair, as if they haven’t done this numerous times before.
“Yes, of course,” Annaliese says, laughter leaking into her voice despite her efforts.
“Are you laughing at me?” He drags the neckline of the dress down until it’s sitting at the top of her breasts. Annaliese moves her hands away and lets the white fabric drop to her waist, pulling her arms out of the sleeves. “You’re meant to be a blushing virgin bride, you know that?”
“I haven’t been a virgin in some time thanks to you, and when have I ever been known to blush?”
Harry’s lips touch her shoulders again, pulling her up against his chest. She turns her head and looks at him with thinned lips, eyebrows arched in a challenge.
“Clearly I’m not doing my duties as your lover if I’m not making you blush. Though I’d argue,” Harry whispers, touching her chin, “that I do make you flustered with my actions at least.” His eyes dip down to her lips. “Especially with what my mouth does, rather than what it says.”
Her breath hitches in her throat, eyes moving over his face. He cups her cheek and softly kisses her.
“And as your husband,” Harry whispers, eliciting a soft whimper from Annaliese, “I should be doing more than that, hm?”
Her fingers grip his no longer crisp shirt by the collars, turning herself over. With a gentle push, Harry falls onto his outstretched palms, legs spread out, but he quickly adjusts with an arm around her waist to hoist her into his lap. “Come here, wife,” he demands, gravel-voiced. She straddles him on her knees, pushing the remainder of the dress off until it lays in a heap by Harry’s head. In her shift, she can feel the warmth of Harry’s large hands much better as they slide up and down her sides. He grips her thighs and yanks her forward.
“I love you,” Annaliese whispers, balancing her arms on his firm shoulders. His eyes are bright as they stare up at her, hair mussed. “You’re stuck with me now, Styles.”
“An honorable fate, Favreau.” He lifts himself up and kisses her again and again. “Now, as your husband, I do believe I have some marital duties to uphold.”
Annaliese seats herself on his thighs.
“And as my vows state,” he continues, pulling on the thin strap of her shift, dragging it down until her front is exposed and he’s then leaning in, mouth pressed between her breasts, “I intend to keep you fed and happy for the rest of my days.”
Her fingers curl into fists. He presses himself up against her, encouraging her to rock against him.
“I love you,” Harry murmurs, glancing up at her through his lashes and fallen tendrils on his forehead. “Thank you for marrying me.”
Annaliese lets him turn them over once more so her back softly hits the mattress and he begins a slow descent down her body. Her fingers brush through his hair, giving the ends a firm tug. “Thank you for loving me.”
He chuckles, stopping between her thighs. His arms hold her down, bunching her shift up at her hips. “My love, that is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
