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It’s been months since Harry left. Months since the disaster of his mission, the absolute abject failure of his eradication of the human race. Months since he said goodbye to Asta, with at least the knowledge that he no longer had to look at his failures, his greatest one he suspects is somehow her.
It’s been almost exactly the same amount of months since he turned his ship back around to drop Max off—the little shitstack—and retrieve his delicious pizzas. At that point he was hungry again so cooked one of the pizzas and ate it, sat on his sofa in his cabin. He felt that there was no point in beginning a long journey tired, so he had gone to bed. This was months ago, as has been established.
It’s been months since Harry decided to stay.
Since that time, Asta has slowly come back to him. They have spent time together, more and more as the days have passed, as spring shifted into summer, slipped into fall. It’s on one of those fall nights, the last warmth of the summer barely holding on, that he and Asta are sat on his sofa, enjoying a pizza (a fresh one).
Asta is at ease, lying against the arm of the sofa. He knows she is at ease because as she speaks she prods her feet into his thigh: the more comfortable she is with him, the more she seems to touch him.
‘Hey Harry, why’d you stay?’
Something about the way she says his name makes his heart stutter. And it is his name now. He feels like it fits, like it belongs. Especially when Asta says it. ‘Because this is my cabin. I live here why would I—‘
She rolls her eyes and holds up a hand, cutting him off. ‘I mean why’d you stay on Earth?’
‘Ah. For the pizza. Of course. Ah ha!’ He laughs: he’s a funny guy.
Asta sighs. One of those deep long suffering sounds she makes often in his company. He senses she wants a real answer. She pokes at his leg again.
‘Because it— it hurt.’ He remembers when Asta had stormed in, the smell of rage and betrayal pouring off her. He remembers how desperately he ached when she left, how crushed he’d felt. How this human body had grieved, how he’d understood then that all she made him feel—and just how all that actually was—how it was love, hope and terror and joy and confusion wreaking havoc inside him. He remembers how surprised he’d been at the pain of Asta cauterising the wound in his leg, how that had felt like a tickle compared to the onslaught her walking out.
He is evidently lost in those feelings because suddenly he is aware of Asta no longer reclining but sitting right next him, hand gentle on his shoulder.
‘I am fine.’ He smiles at her, but she is evidently not convinced. ‘I was remembering the hurt. But I am not hurt now so it is fine.’
Her expression shifts and although he is getting good at reading her, he can’t understand what it means. ‘I’m glad you came back. I would have missed you, weirdo.’
She lightly shoves at his shoulder. Playful.
‘I miss you. Weirdo,’ He says, patting her hand.
She laughs as she frowns, ‘You mean you missed me. Past tense. You can’t miss me when I’m right here.’
‘But I do miss you because you are not always here. And when you are not here that is when I do miss you, the most.’ He decides to leave his hand on top of hers, just to see how long it’ll be before she pulls away. She’s so warm.
‘Harry we see each other nearly every day.’ It sounds like reprimand but she’s smiling so he thinks it’s okay.
‘Yes but sometimes when you’re here and you leave to go to the bathroom or the kitchen it’s like all the air in the room has gone with you and I cannot breathe,’ He watches her body still, her face change and explains further because maybe she doesn’t understand exactly, ‘like that time when you had to remove the blood from my chest cavity so I could breathe again: when you return it is like that.’
When she still doesn’t answer (or remove her hand which he is secretly thrilled about) he prompts, ‘Remember? You had to avoid the teeth and you were inside me up to your elbow.’
She opens her mouth. Shuts it.
‘Well, fuck.’ She says, and kisses him.
So far in his Earth-bound time he has kissed two humans, and had sex with one. One he does not like to think about, the other his body forces him to remember (usually in the mornings, gasping awake after miry dreams of wet warmth and his penis as hard as stone). The former was an excess of saliva, a strange battle of tongues and grimaces, the latter was—well. The latter lead to sex which was fine and felt good at times and strange at others. He doesn’t really get the human sex thing.
Asta kisses like neither of them. He doesn’t really get a chance to analyse exactly how Asta kisses before she’s sat back, a wary look on her face, giving way to a fierce flush of her skin. Harry swallows as he watches her skin deepen.
‘Shit— Harry I’m sorry I thought—‘ She sits back and his hand drops from her face, just sort of hovers in the air (what do humans do when they can’t fold their arms back into their torso?), ‘I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—‘ She shakes her head and lifts her hands in apology, shifting to move back to the far reaches at the other end of the sofa. Out of reach. Leaving again.
There’s a keening noise which Harry belated realises comes from his own throat as he clumsily surges forward to kiss her. Asta half falls back with a surprised sound, Harry half falling on her with his desperate attempt to keep her here.
‘Don’t do that,’ He murmurs against her lips, ‘Don’t go. Please don’t go, Asta.’
He feels as much as he senses her soften. She brings her hands to his face, pushes far enough back that she can look him in the eye. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Harry.’
‘Good.’ He says, a little too fast. He can’t stop looking at her mouth. ‘Can we kiss now?’
She laughs and his whole body thrills. Like a klaxon call to his blood, her laughter igniting it as it surges chaotically through his veins. He presses forward to kiss her, remembering the bit he did like: the prelude to sex. The soft kisses. The gentle touches that felt like a simmering heat.
So that’s what he does. He doesn’t think about the videos he’s since watched on ‘how-to-kiss-a-girl’ or ‘how-to-kiss-a-boy’ (he’ll never understand the human need to define anything so binary as boy and girl), because this feels special. He is kissing Asta and Asta is kissing him back. This is between them. This is their secret. He doesn’t need AnalBead$Lov3r69’s advice.
He kisses her everywhere. A gentle press of lips against her cheekbones, her jaw, her chin. He kisses the corners of her lips, the soft soft soft skin just below her ear. She sighs and slips her hands into his hair and he crawls closer, now between her legs. He holds the back of her head, slips his other hand round her waist, bunching the fabric of the t-shirt she’s wearing in his fist as he does so. He kisses under her nose, delighting in the breathy laugh that follows. He kisses her forehead, her eyelids. He kisses along her jawline, stuttering as he reaches her mouth and she parts her lips sliding her tongue ever so lightly across his lips. At this touch he’s sure lightening crackles in his blood and he’s surprised at the noise he makes: a half pained sort of keening.
He parts his lips and copies her light caress, surprised at how thrilling it feels, nothing at all like kissing D’Arcy. Asta sucks in a breath and Harry chases it into her mouth feeling the back of his neck tingle. Their kisses become more heated, their tongues a hot wet slide against each other, Harry moaning as Asta sucks on his lower lip, his heart stopping momentarily. They’re both panting when they pause, Asta’s pupils blown wide, skin flushed so prettily.
‘Can I lick you?’
Her skin deepens in colour and she huffs a quiet laugh. ‘Is this some alien thing?’
‘No I just want to taste you.’
She closes her eyes, and he watches the muscles in her jaw clench. He slips his hand out from her head, drops it by her waist. When she opens her eyes she nods, ‘Yeah, fuck it. But here first.’
She points to the crux of her neck and he dives in, licking a stripe up her skin. She moans and drops her head back against the sofa arm. She points to a patch of skin under her jaw and he does as is instructed, licking and kissing in turn. She’s clutching his head against her skin, muffled sounds pattering against his ear drum like rain. When she gasps, he lifts his head, can’t resist dropping a kiss to her swollen lips.
‘I like the sounds you make. They make me feel…’ He pauses, trying to gauge the correct term while he kisses her between words. ‘Very warm. Like my bones are on fire.’
‘Fuck is this your dirty talk?’
‘What is—‘ But he’s cut off by her pulling him down and kissing him hotly. She’s all tongues and teeth and sucking and the noises they’re both now making are making his skin prickle, his gut tighten and warm. ‘Asta.’ He’s not sure why he says her name, but the way it makes her tighten her grip on his hair—pull her against him—makes him want to do it again and again and again.
He wonders how else he can make her do that.
Experimentally he slips back down to kiss her neck, bites just above her collarbone—maybe a little too hard but something in his body is making him want to bite, to devour—and kiss over the mark he’s fascinated to see bloom there. He made that mark. He sucks at it in wonder, makes it pinker as it brings the blood rushing to the surface.
‘If I keep sucking here will this mark stay?’ He asks excitedly, and she swats at his hand.
‘For a while I guess but—‘ She makes a high pitched noise as he sucks at another spot on her throat, ‘—fuck Harry we’re not teenagers stop leaving hickeys. I have to go to work people will see.’
He brings his head up to tell her just how little he cares about that—well, how little he cares what other people will think: he likes the idea of people seeing he’s marked her, that she allowed him to do this—but upon seeing her face stops short. She looks… she looks so— her skin and her eyes her hair all mussed and—
‘You are very beautiful,’ He chokes out, bewildered at the raspiness of his own voice.
She groans and drags him up for another kiss.
‘For an alien you’ve got serious game, you know that?’ She mutters before licking the backs of his teeth and making his toes curl. She pushes at him lightly to move back while her hands struggle to pull the fabric of her t-shirt out of his balled fist.
‘What is serious game and how do I…’ He trails off as he’s presented with the result of her ministrations: her almost bare torso as she tosses the t-shirt to one side. He tries to speak but finds his mouth is suddenly dry. Harry clears his throat and tries again.
‘That is coming off.’ He points to her bra, the dastardly contraption that was invented to torment him. She raises an eyebrow and in a blink the bra is gone too. He thinks she did it with one hand. He’s sure she has magic.
‘How did you…’ He mumbles as his knuckles skim across her stomach. She’s so soft. He vaguely decides somewhere in the back of his mind to find out how she preformed such a trick, but for now he brings his lips to more skin, licks across her breast, eyes flashing up to her own when she gasps. She likes that.
He does it again and preens in the sound she makes.
He licks and sucks, kneads and palms at her, making a mental catalogue of all the things she likes all the things she doesn’t. He could spend hours at her breasts, the velvety skin beneath them, the taste of salt on her skin. The taste of pine and mountain snow and soap and something else, something he can’t identify but craves.
He sucks her nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive bud, and she gasps, hips bucking up against him. ‘Christ Harry, normally guys don’t spend five minutes on foreplay. Don’t get me wrong this is,’ She breaks off, digging her nails into his scalp and he moans against her, ‘this is really great but there’s only so much a girl can take.’
He lifts his head, dragging his gaze up from her breasts, her lips. She ungracefully yanks at his shirt so she can kiss him again.
‘I’m gonna need you to touch me pretty fucking soon.’
‘I’m already touching you, Asta.’ He rubs his thumb over her nipple just to remind her. ‘Where else would you like me to touch you?’
She groans. ‘Fuck, whatever anywhere, preferably inside me just, just fucking—‘
He kisses her because he can’t help himself. He wants to kiss her always. Everywhere. He thinks it might be his favourite thing to do with Asta. He moves to tell her this, but finds he’s suddenly overwhelmed by his olfactory finally catching up with him. He realises he can smell her. He’s tasted the salt and sweat on her skin, been vaguely aware of the thrumming in her veins, but now the smell of her is heady. The scent on her he couldn’t place is her arousal. He’s desperate to taste it.
His hands struggle to find the button on her jeans, slipping in his haste and clumsy urgency. He manages to wrangle it apart to come upon the zip (why why have two methods of fastening? Why not just one that functions correctly?) which catches on the skin of his fingers as he grunts at the nip and frustration. He’s sloppily kissing her stomach when he manages to open the damn jeans, Asta lifting her hips and snorting at him as he inelegantly yanks them down.
‘Can I lick you here?’ He asks, half serious (because he likes it when she tells him what to do) half jesting (because as has been established he is a funny guy with serious game).
‘I might kill you if you don’t.’ She huffs out, freeing her legs from her jeans fully.
‘Ah ha!’ He laughs because he knows she is joking, and licks a stripe up the centre of her pants. They’re thin enough that they’re damp already, and he groans as he gets a hint of her taste. He slides off the sofa onto his knees, wrapping her legs around his head, and sucks at her mound. He noses at her, gently traces the outline of her pants with his finger, followed by his tongue. Presses kisses at the crux of her thigh while gently squeezing at her flesh. Asta writhes in front of him, whines as she says ‘Fuck, please Harry—‘, Grunts as he flattens his tongue against the fabric of her pants, ‘Jesus eat me out already fuck.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
In the act of them both trying to remove her pants Harry hears a tear and is vaguely aware of them falling from her in tatters. He is too focused on his need to taste her fully to care and presses forward.
He isn’t sure if this is still classed as kissing but the mechanics aren’t dissimilar. There’s still lips to part, to suck into his mouth. He can flatten his tongue against them in a long stripe and hear Asta’s sighs turn into throatier moans. The main difference is the swollen bud above her folds, which appears to be a live wire, one that makes her buck against him and curse. When he flicks his tongue against it the first time, fingers rubbing soothing circles into the soft flesh of her inner thighs, she makes a pained guttural noise and he shifts back to look up quickly.
He can’t see her face from the way her back has arched and he feels his blood run cold. He becomes extra-terrestrially still, fear coursing through him.
‘Asta? Did I—‘ he gulps as she lies back against the sofa, looks down at him, ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘What?’ She looks dazed and he worries he’s hurt her to the point of incomprehension. Of course he’d read up as much as he could on human anatomy, on their propensity for the act of pro-creation without the conception, but there were few studies on female pleasure centres. The information on the make-up of the physiology was basic at best. And yes, he’d watched videos on how to kiss but he hadn’t interested beyond that: sex just didn’t seem to fit in this body.
There were some of his species that didn’t reproduce—it could be harrowing experience, especially for the birthing-party—and though that hadn’t been him, he knew it happened. Maybe in this form, in this human body he was like that. He had experienced what the humans called a ‘boner’ but beyond the initial uncomfortableness it was more of a nuisance than anything.
He had found out from reading and first hand that kissing could be unpleasant, painful if done badly. He quickly considers if in his kissing he bit her accidentally, and glances down to find that although there’s no broken skin she is flushed and slightly swollen and although there’s no blood she is very wet, maybe humans bleed clear at their genitals maybe—
‘Harry, you didn’t hurt me,’ He pauses still unsure, and she drops a hand to his cheek, ‘You didn’t hurt me. Trust me, okay? That feels… it feels really good.’
‘So I can do that again?’
‘Yes—yes, fuck please.’
He ducks his head and flicks his tongue, cataloging the new sounds she makes as equating to pleasure, to feeling good. He sucks her clitoris into his mouth, lightly sucking as Asta gasps and murmurs encouragements.
‘That’s—fuck that’s really good Harry, god okay yeah—‘ She cards her fingers through his hair, digs her nails a little into his scalp and he moans against her, surprised at how good that feels. At how his skin prickles, how each noise she makes sends hot spurts of warmth down his spine.
‘You should—mmm you should put your finger insid—fuck yeah like that, that’s really really good, Harry.’
He likes being told what to do by Asta. He likes the way it tickles the back of his neck.
He follows her encouragements, dipping a finger inside her, marvelling at her wet warmth. The way her internal walls clench around his digit. He beings to lightly pump in and out, lapping at her folds as he does. He adds a finger and slowly circles her clit with his thumb, drinks in the taste of her desire.
He feels her body begin to tighten around him, can hear her heart quicken. Asta begins to stutter out phrases nonsensically, alternating between threatening him and begging.
Then: ’Fuck Harry, that’s gonna make me come. Tell me— tell me to come.’
‘I—‘ He’s not sure what it really means but following her instruction hasn’t failed him yet. ‘You should come now Asta, I- I want you to come.’ He stumbles a bit at the end but it does the trick, and she shudders around him, arching her back and saying his name in a devastating sigh. It ripples through him and he’s blindsided for a moment, a groan of his own falling out his own mouth. He liked that. He liked that a lot.
‘Can I do that again?’ He asks, and moves his fingers anew, pumping slowly, languidly pressing his tongue against her, licking at her wetness.
Asta chokes on a laugh, panting heavily. ‘I mean, Christ, yeah but I might need—‘ She cuts off with a guttural moan when he crooks his fingers towards him from inside her. Interesting.
‘Would you like me to stop?’ He asks looking up, languidly flickering his tongue across her as she looks down at him drunkenly.
‘Fuck no, keep fucking going Harry, that’s—’
She’s cut off by the press of his tongue against her clit, the wet slurping noises in the air sounding obscene even to his ears. He sucks and curls his fingers again and again as she tightens around him.
‘Harry— !’ His hand is drenched, face wet from her. He’s beginning to understand the love humans have of sex. This is intoxicating. Making Asta say his name like that while she writhes under him? It’s addictive. Maybe even better than kissing.
He keeps doing this, bringing her to the brink of orgasm, enticing her over and shivering at each exhalation of his name. Far sooner than he likes, she pats at his head and he pulls back. Not far enough that he cannot drop kisses on her inner thighs though, rub light circles there. Drink in her smell, the taste of her on his tongue.
‘Christ, Harry.’
‘Are you okay? Was that… was that pleasurable?’
Laughter erupts from her. She clutches her belly for a moment until it subsides, looks down at him fondly.
‘I haven’t come like that since… well, ever. I am definitely okay. Come here, you idiot.’ She opens her arms and he crawls up, groans at the crack and ache in his knees. She giggles as he rubs at them, perhaps a little more than is necessary just to hear those sweet sounds from her lips. With her hand on his face, she kisses him unhurriedly, licking into his mouth. He realises she must be able to taste herself on him and a low noise rips from his throat.
She pushes to sit up and he shifts back as she does, but only enough so that he can still kiss her. He feels drunk. He wants to kiss her forever. Forever and ever and—
‘Let me catch my breath,’ She laughs panting, pushing lightly at his chest. He grumbles and nuzzles at her neck instead.
‘I did not need to catch my breath. I have gills.’
Asta’s hand stills on his front. ‘Wait so— hold on. You can just keep going? Without needing to breathe?’
‘I still need to breathe, Asta, I am not a rock.’ He snorts as he kisses under her jaw. Even for an above average intelligent human she could still say such ridiculous things.
‘No no, I get that. I just mean. Theoretically, we could keep doing that and you wouldn’t have to come up for air?’ She points down at her centre and Harry looks up.
‘There is no theoretically about it, move back and I will show you!’ He’s happily about to ruin his knees again but she laughs and clutches his shoulders to stop him moving.
‘No Harry—well I mean yes but not yet. Next time we will definitely be exploring that.’ He feels his face widen at that: next time. Then it falls.
‘Does that mean we are finished at sex?’
‘What? No. No not at all.’
‘Oh good! I like having sex with you. Especially when you make that noise in the back of your throat, a sort of—‘ He tries to imitate it but looking at Asta’s face he fails (even though he thinks it was pretty accurate). ‘You actually sound a lot like that. It was very accurate.’
She snorts and lifts her leg over his so that she’s straddling him. Her hands begin to drift down his front, pushing at his open shirt so it slips from his shoulders. ’Well you’ve heard me come a frankly embarrassing amount of times for one evening so I think it’s time I hear what you sound like.’
‘Ah. No thank you. I am more interested in making you come.’
Her hands freeze and she cocks her head. Confusion he thinks? ‘Do you not wanna keep going?’
‘Yes but only for you. Sex does not feel good to me in this body. It is very sticky and uncomfortable.’ He grimaces at the memory. But then… strange how similar acts have felt different with Asta. Not uncomfortable at all.
Asta hesitates. ‘When you had sex with Isabelle… did you not enjoy it?’
He shrugs. ‘It was fine.’
‘Hm. Did you enjoy that with me, just now? The—‘
‘Yes.’ He interrupts her without meaning, and can’t help the fumble of words that follow, ‘It was exhilarating. If I did not know better I would say that you are a-‘ he breaks off in a guttural high pitched squark of his own language that doesn’t translate well into English. When she shakes her head, he explains. ‘It is a very potent drug on my planet. It is because both you and it are very intoxicating. Ah ha!’ He ends with a laugh, just in case she needs to be reminded that he’s funny. Because he is.
‘Weird compliment but okay,’ She rolls her shoulders and then nods her head absently and he feels himself automatically become wary. He recognises that look and he is not sure he likes it. She’s pushed his shirt off his shoulders, leaving him in his t-shirt, and she fishes his hands out of the sleeves to hold them. ‘Can I try something? I’m gonna touch you and if you don’t like it, tell me and I’ll stop.’
He nods his consent but feels the need to inform her anyway, ‘It will not matter, Asta, this body does not feel pleas—Ah!’ He’s cut off by his own surprised yelp as she gently but firmly squeezes his erect penis through his jeans. That is… unexpected.
When he and Isabelle had had sex, he had come to learn a number of things about himself in a human body: he liked kissing; kissing never lasted as long as he wanted it to, and; there had been some initial pleasure when Isabelle had touched his penis and when it had been inside her, but the pleasure had felt negligible given the many other things he was learning in fast succession. He wasn’t really sure what was happening, why it was happening, or what any of it meant. There had been some quiet instinct at the back of his head—which he had later come to label as ‘muscle-memory’, a bizarre occurrence given he was not actually human—that guided him a little, but overall, he’d chalked the experience up to just that. Experience. Neither good nor bad (apart from the kissing which was very good albeit tragically short lived). It was after this that he had researched human pro-creation, genital anatomy, and pleasure centres.
So it is of some surprise that when Asta has her hand around his clothed member, he feels a hot flush pour down his back, right into his toes. He is suddenly achingly aware of how hard he is.
She lets go.
‘Is that… okay?’
He swallows heavily and nods. Flexes his hands at considering this new information.
‘Can I do it again?’
He whimpers, clutches at her bare thighs. ‘Yes.’
This time, Asta unbuttons his jeans and frees his throbbing erection from his pants. She places a loose grip around his penis and strokes. He recognises the word penis is wrong in this context, and flicks through words in his head until one fits. Knob, prick, pecker? No. Shaft, cock…
That feels lurid and reeks of sex. He likes it.
Likes the feel of Asta’s tightening grip on his cock. He grunts, hips twitching when she thumbs the tip.
‘Hang on.’ She murmurs, pushing herself up with her thighs to dip into herself. Her fingers come back slick with fluid and he can’t help the curse that jumps from his lips when she wraps those around him, pumps now so slippery and wet he shudders.
She leans down to kiss him, all sloppy tongue and heady moans. He feels blinded. Blinded and white hot, forehead breaking out into a quick sweat.
‘I—' He keens as she squeezes him tight, ‘I did not know it could feel like this.’
‘Oh you think it feels good now? Just wait.’ She smirks devilishly and he gazes at her, drunken and in awe. To think he would have destroyed all this. Blown it into oblivion when he could be doing this, feeling this. Feeling Asta. He groans.
‘I would like to mount you now.’
Asta gives a choked laugh, shakes her head. ‘We’ve gotta work on your dirty talk.’ She pushes up off him and he whines at the loss of contact. ‘I’m not fucking you fully clothed Harry.’
‘Not yet.’ He murmurs, considering the image.
She pauses, licking her lips. ‘Yeah. Yeah okay not yet. Next time. Another time.’ She’s nodding as she’s hastily yanking at his jeans. He lifts his hips and shoves them unceremoniously down, kicking wildly to remove them. Asta immediately crawls back onto his lap, and pulls at his t-shirt. He jerks it over his head. She hums and strokes her hands across his chest.
‘Much better,’ She ducks to kiss him as she lifts her hips, ‘Ready?’
‘Yes yes please.’
‘Normally I’d pay you a little more attention before the main event so to speak but—‘
‘Asta.’ He isn’t proud of how needy he sounds but he’ll live with it. It’s worth it for the way she smirks at him.
She grips his cock to guide him to her entrance, then so slowly he stops breathing, she slides down. A deep groan reverberates between them: mostly him but also her. Harry comes to the conclusion he really needs to reevaluate how he feels about sex.
‘Okay?’ Her voice is gentle and considerate. He squeezes her hip, the most communication he can manage with her seated on him like this. He brings his free hand to her face, pulls it closer to kiss her. She is so warm and wet and beautiful and magnificent and he would like to die like this, with their lips in tandem, him inside her.
When she lifts herself up, he chases her, thrusting up and moaning at the wet slide. They come down together and Harry begins to vaguely wonder if he has a fever. His skin is hot and his stomach is tight, hands clammy against her cool skin. He rocks up against her, bringing them together again in a filthy sound of skin on skin, up and up and up. Again again again.
She is beyond intoxicating like this.
She kisses him between thrusts, whining when he ducks to suck her nipple into his mouth. He holds the soft flesh of her hips, pulls her down onto him with each push up, lets his head fall back against the sofa. Almost chokes when she is pressing her lips to his neck, licking and sucking in spectacular imitation of his previous actions.
They find a rhythm that suits them both, Asta raking her nails down his back, her eyes glazed over and black as night. He tries to listen to the way his alien-as-human-body tells him what she needs, when to slow when to grip her hips and flatten his tongue against her breast. He succeeds for the most part, but finds his concentration and control begins to unravel each time Asta clenches around him, a wicked gleam in her eye, or when she licks at the hollow of his throat.
‘Stay still,’ She instructions and lifts so she is barely seated, only the tip of him inside her. She lifts and lowers lightly at the very edge of his cock and he keens, whimpers and begs her to move. He stays still though. Doesn’t move until she has plunged back against him and he bucks involuntarily.
‘Asta—‘ His spine is crackling, feeding a hot pool of energy at his base, one that feels as though he’s climbing a mountain, is almost at the top. ‘Asta I—‘
She presses down to kiss him fiercely and he moans against her lips. When she holds his face in her hands and says, ‘I’ve got you,’ something in him begins to untangle.
This planet of theirs is messy. It is broken and hurt and so devastatingly beautiful. It is full of contradictions, humans being one of the most frustrating and egregious of them all. But here with Asta, with her boundless love and joy, her anxieties and flaws and complicated thoughts and actions, Harry understands. Because Asta is the Earth. She is all its contradictions and ill-thought out misadventures, she is it’s beauty and it’s wrath and it’s fear. Asta is fatal, she is feral. She is as catastrophic to the universe as she is bewitching. She is utterly magnificent.
His heart falters: this is what humans mean to love. To be in love. To know that they are each of these things and more, and that they will die and it will end. And it hurts, it hurts so much more than he could have ever known, but he wants it all the same. He aches for this love, for Asta’s love.
He opens his eyes to gaze into Asta’s, the universe held there, and lets himself fall apart in her arms.