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The Honeymoon

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You and Harry are all hands and giggles and freshly-married grins as you both attempt to make your way into your honeymoon suite.

Married! You’re married!

Mrs. Harrison Wells!

Man, it feels nice to finally say. After a real-life slow burn, you and he have finally tied the knot. And it’s not just you that feels the relief of having made it official - Team Flash had been waiting for this for ‘eons’ according to Cisco.

When you reach your suite’s door, Harry is already leaving open-mouthed kisses to your neck and it’s suddenly like you can’t even remember how to open a door.

“Are you going to attack me right in this hallway, Hare?”

“Mm, thinking about it,” he replies. It’s impossible to tell whether it’s a joke or not. You wouldn’t put it past the man (your husband!).

Upon first entry into the exclusive room, you spot your luggage already waiting by the door thanks to the hotel staff. The place is swanky beyond all belief and how on all the Earths had Harry pulled this off? You suppose being a rich, famous, and celebrated scientist has its perks.

The view outside the floor-to-ceiling window is to die for. Curling waves crash onto the private section of the golden beach below you and the sunset looks so incredible that you’d think it was fake if someone only showed you a photo of this.

But it’s difficult to even take it all in because Harry’s hands are securely on your waist, lips on yours with delightful greed after he catches up to you viewing the sunset at the window. Your hand reaches back to hold his head of perfectly coiffed hair, still in place from the ceremony and reception. Though, it won’t stay that way much longer if you have anything to do about it. Harry peppers more kisses down to your bare shoulder.

“You’re not going to enjoy the view?” you ask.

“Oh, I am.”

“But that sunset, Hare!”

“Nothing will pry my eyes away from my wife.”

You turn around, and when you do, the strap from your romper slides off your shoulder and down your arm. Even your clothes want to come off already at the way Harry so much as looks at you. His fingers tentatively move to the strap, keeping his eyes on you, as if to monitor how far he can go with this until you’re out of your clothing before him. You say nothing and let him undress you. Your one-piece article drops to the floor. In closing the slight gap between you, your lips turn up as you unbutton his crisp white shirt. Intensely, he watches your fingers dance while they work the buttons.

“Honey, I think you need to invest in some sort of one-piece article,” you mention casually then proceed to his belt, “you have too many layers.”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Harry chuckles. “Besides, it’s the best thing in the world to watch you undress me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You whip the belt out from the loops of his trousers like a professional. But a professional what? Porn star?

Harry lets out a playful growl-laugh at that and unzips his pants himself - now far too eager and needing to be in control of how quickly he can defile his new bride.

Romantically defile, though.

Okay, but with a dash of filth.

Marriage was going to be very magical.

Harry won’t stop smiling at you as he encroaches in on your space, essentially pinning yourself to the window. The coolness of the floor-length glass is very much welcome against your back, especially when your husband is making you so hot right now.

“You don’t think the bed would be more fitting?” you check, knowing in your mind the damn bed can wait its turn.

“We’ll get there, too, don’t you worry,” he assures you.

“Good answer.”

Harry plants a kiss on your wanting lips, restrained at first - as if wanting to savour the romantic bliss of spending these cherished honeymoon days and nights with you. But your kiss is like a poison to him; it always has been, turning your restrained and sensible man into this wild thing who wants nothing more than to please you and see and hear you being pleased.

Harry’s hand, which has been cupping your cheek, slides down the skin of your neck, over your practically-nothing-bra, to rest a moment at your hip. His fingers dance near the top of your panties (that you had picked out specifically for a moment like this for him to destroy). His mouth starts slow in its movements against yours again. He’s thinking.

“Harrison, you don’t need to think, remember?” you breathe against his parted lips. “But you do need to touch me or else I might have to ahhh-”

Your head tips back on the window at the feel of Harry’s perfect fingers between your legs. They explore and easily discover the intensity of your slick desire.

“You were saying?” Harry asks cheekily, leaning in to taste your skin just below your ear. You breathe out a laugh.

“Nothing, oh delicious husband.”

While one hand wraps around to clutch his rippled back, the other holds onto his equally impressive arm. And with one leg hooked around his, you suddenly wish you had more limbs to cling onto him with. God, his fingers… they’re so excessively coated with you now and they’ve found their perfect little plaything to swirl around. No amount of lip biting can save you from the whimpers Harry draws from you.

“I love it when you do that,” he whispers in your ear.

“Well, I love it when you do t-that, ugh…” Your eyelashes flutter at his attention to your begging clit. Reaching down with what mental capacity you still have, you reach into his pants to feel him. He’s hard and twitching and probably dying to delve inside you this instant. You take a second to shimmy out of your panties and pull his length (arguably yours now, in a sense) towards your throbbing centre where you coat him with your slickness. You watch in your task, but Harry continues to watch you instead.

“Ready?” you ask him.

“I like that you’re asking me that question.”

“Well, are you?”

“I’ve been ready for longer than you know.”

Just as you will never tire from hearing him bring you coffee in the mornings, say your name, or hold your hand, you will also never tire of the feeling of Harry entering you. Your body welcomes him in and holds on tight, never wanting him to leave.

Your moans effectively express the need in which your body wants more of Harry. It always wants more. It’s a good thing he’s yours now, ‘til death do you part.

“Harrison, God, yes…”

“(Y/N)…”

“More. More.”

“Hold on.”

He meant literally. Harry hoists you up so that you’re straddling him, back pressed to the window. You feel yourself sink further down onto his cock at this new angle. He fills you up wholly and easily slides repeatedly into you. Your hardly-covered breasts rub against Harry’s chest - nipples taut with the friction behind the scant white lace.

You moan at the ceiling, revealing your neck to him. Harry takes this as an invite and latches on, licking at your heated skin in between kisses to your collarbone. He sucks a fresh mark there, the first (of potentially many) honeymoon hickies.

It is also a good thing you both will likely not leave this room. You may get mistaken for a woman with a severe disease with how many love bites you’re expecting from this man given his and your bedroom history…

Harry’s driving you up the wall with each thrust you take eagerly and voicing it just as much. His heavy breathing fans down onto your chest, undoubtedly making you sweat all the more.

The coiling sensation flames within you almost too quickly, but luckily, thanks to those sounds Harry is making, he may not be able to hold off either.

“Almost…” you pant. “Almost…”

“Come for me, Mrs. Wells.”

You grin wildly as your eyes squeeze shut. “Give it to me, Harrison, yesss fuck-”

And oh, he does.

He strikes you inside perfectly and fully in his final few thrusts, all the while stimulating your clit at every motion in and out. Your legs tense around him and the heels of your feet dig harder into his lower back.

You choke out his name and bite his lip when you come, feeling yourself squeezing around his cock in a wordless, satiated beg for more even though he’s finishing inside you. His shaky sigh causes you to shiver. Good shivers.

After pulling out from you, you immediately cling to Harry again. He won’t let you touch the ground, and instead carries you over to the California King bed just a few steps away where you both topple onto the mattress, once more all giggles.

“That was…” he starts.

“It was…” you agree. Harry leans on his arm while resting his head in his hand and stares at you. “You’re doing it again.”

“Better get used to it, Mrs. Wells. You’re stuck with this now.”

“Thank God. There’s no one I’d rather be stuck with. Especially someone who’s fantastic in bed. Or… window, for that matter,” you joke.

Harry laughs and pulls you closer for a sweet kiss. He wipes his thumb gently over your bottom lip after.

“I love you,” he tells you, almost like he still can’t believe this is happening to him. Like he can’t believe he has found this happiness again. And you still can’t believe that he’s found it with you.

“And I love you.”

There’s a short pause - one where you are positive Harry is thinking again.

“You don’t think we should have, you know…?” He gestures to the bed. “Instead of…?” He motions to the window.

“Use your words, big boy,” you giggle.

“You know, the phrase you sometimes use.” It’s hard to tell if his cheeks are pink because of exertion or slight embarrassment.

You rack your brain for what that could mean.

“‘Make love’?” you offer, on the verge of laughter, but hold back because he really is so adorable. Even if he can’t utter that particular phrase. “God, you are the cutest man. Grumpy? Cute. Shy? Cute. But no, I’m quite content with what we did over there. Besides, we have all night to ‘make love,’ Harry.” You lean forward to press another kiss to his curling pink lips.

The two of you spend the next little while making out like crazed teenagers, though technically the term ‘newlyweds’ would suffice in this instance as well. At some point though, you do manage to pry yourself from your husband to unpack your bags a little. Harry watches as you do, eyes lingering on every inch of your nearly naked self. His face switches back and forth from awe to glee to aroused over the course of twenty minutes.

The toiletries were the last items to unpack, and you could practically sense the impatience diffusing from his pores. So with your man obviously raring to go again, you coo, “Oh, husband?” and drop the last of your lingerie to the bathroom floor in clear view of the open door for Harry to see. You hear his feet hit the floor and the sound of his pants hurrying to come off. Turning on the shower, you step in first to feel the spray of the water. Goodbye gross travel-sheen, hello cleanliness.

With a touch of dirtiness.

Harry gets under the showerhead with you, and you press your back against the tiles. He pushes his drenched curls back with his hand, and wow, yeah, okay, maybe he’s the sexy porn star in all of this. No, he’s better. He’s real.

And he’s all yours.

A fact that is always fun to remember.

You drag your teeth over your bottom lip. Slowly, you turn around to place your hands on the shower wall and turn your head to catch Harry’s eye. The man stands there, lips parted slightly. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. You fix your footing and back your ass up against his groin to make little gyrations. Harry looks up to the ceiling with his eyes closed, lets out a small groan, and instinctively sets his hands on your waist.

He presses himself harder against your ass and you can feel him growing stiffer once more. You make a knowing chuckle at how you’re able to turn him on like no tomorrow. Harry’s hands start to roam upwards on your wet body, one resting on your rib cage while the other cups your breast.

As he massages you, you let out a breathy moan and continue to rub up on his body. In return, your husband takes your nipple in between his thumb and forefinger to knead it. Harry presses a kiss to the crook of your neck, to which you are already feeling yourself turning to mush at his every touch.

While he continues to caress you expertly, you reach around to take Harry in your hand, feeling him rock-hard now. You play with him a little - pumping his shaft until his own hand finds yours on him. He aids you in guiding him to your ready heat from behind. You helpfully sink onto him as he enters you - your heady voice muffled from the water in your ears, but it echoes around the four corners of the roomy shower. Your hands brace yourself against the wall as Harry gives you precisely what you need in terms of roughness and speed. He leans in close so you can hear his heavy panting and feel his breath on your neck. One of his hands gathers your hair and moves it to one side over your shoulder. The simple and considerate action is enough to keep you melting inside.

“Oh, Harry, please-” you cry when you feel yourself nearing the brink of your imminent and likely stellar shower-climax. Harry’s fingers dig into your hip, and at your plea, brings one hand down around between your legs to spark your fiery orgasm so much quicker.

He positively pulses inside your core and you can feel your walls beginning to increasingly constrict and release around his cock until the point where your pussy squeezes so tightly around him, that it’s even more difficult to continue his push deeper inside. With erratically jerking hips, Harry curses, followed by another moan made in perfect staccato. He’s hot when he spills into you - a deep, glorious groan of your name surrounds you in your whitened, starry vision.

“Damn…” you exhale, taking a moment before turning around to kiss your man under the continuous spray of the water.

“How very eloquent,” Harry teases, hearing in his voice on the brink of a chuckle.

“Shush, you.” You press another kiss to his perfect lips. His and yours both inch upwards into grins between pecks.

Naturally, the two of you stay in the shower until the water runs cold - a rude interruption from the magnificent shower kisses. But that just leads to stepping into the hotel’s lavish, fluffy white robes, and laying in bed together. And arguably, this is just as pleasant.

Room service is most definitely ordered, of course - an amazing spread accompanied by a red wine and chocolate-covered strawberries. Your dinner even comes with a little note wishing you both congratulations on your nuptials. Mr. and Mrs. Wells.

Nope, still not over it!

Harry offers you a strawberry, holding it up to your lips.

“Oh, so you’re feeding me now, are you?” you tease. “Not scared I’ll bite?” 

“Not in the slightest.”

Wrapping your lips around the fruit, you take a bite and the sweetness bursts into your mouth like fireworks. You hum in delight. Harry’s eyes darken at your happy little sound as if on cue. His fingers still have a bit of the melted chocolate and berry juice on them, so you gently grab ahold of his wrist and pull his hand to you, taking his fingers in your mouth.

You don’t think he meant to let his mouth hang open like that.

You swirl your tongue around his fingers to lick off the rest of the lingering taste of the dessert until there’s nothing left. But it doesn’t matter. You keep it up anyway and start to gently suck at his fingers. Your eyes close and you smile.

His voice floats into your ears in a single word, “Bed.”

Standing up immediately, you take Harry’s hand, making him get up too, and lead him over to the bed. You undo his robe’s belt and shuck the hotel garment off of him. Harry, bless him, takes his time in disrobing you no matter how badly you know he wants to rip the damned thing off you. You know that look in his eyes.

He wants to take every nanosecond, he wants to be slow, and savour every part of this, and at this point - hell yeah, you want that, too. You want to get lost in your own little world of just you and Harry and let it last forever. Harry removes his glasses in one suave motion to the lounge chair beside the bed, eyes never once leaving you. They never do.

Crawling backwards on the bed, Harry follows you until he has you boxed in underneath him. You can practically feel his body radiate heat with how hot he is for you.

His mouth tastes your lips and takes his sweet time doing so. But it’s not just your lips - he tastes every part of your skin as he works his way downward, hands touching everywhere and burning little finger-sized holes into your skin. His hold on your thighs is gentle yet firm when he spreads your legs open for him. He bends down between them and plants a soft kiss to your sex.

And again.

And again.

Until they’re a little less chaste and slightly more ravenous. And definitely more focused on eliciting those whimpers he loves so much from you.

Harry’s open-mouthed kisses cause you to tremble - so tender, slow, and deliberately gentle. Your eyes flutter and you suck in a breath when he licks a stripe upwards. Your thighs may have clenched around his head for a moment there, but he looks up at you through those gorgeous thick lashes of his and damn if that isn’t an image you want to have photographed in your mind forever.

You bite your lip, and your husband dives back in for more to taste. You watch him enjoy eating you out thoroughly, or at least what you thought was thorough because just as he begins to circle his tongue around your clit, Harry expertly adds his fingers inside you as well. You toss your head back on the huge cloud-like pillow and let out a happy whine.

“Better than the strawberries?” you ask shakily, unable to hold back the tiny giggle after the question.

“Undoubtedly,” he answers, coming back up and making sure to kiss you to show you first hand. You hum into the kiss and roll Harry over so that you’re on top of him.

“Mm,” Harry hums back, “I don’t think so.”

“Hm-?” In return, he rolls you over onto your back again. You stare up at him with curious eyes. But he loves it when you’re on top…?

“I’m going to make this so good for you, (YN),” Harry promises. “This is about you tonight.”

“No,” you say, “This is about us.”

He steals a kiss from you so willingly given, and you feel him position himself at your entrance. You’d hold your breath if Harry hadn’t already stolen that from you too.

You accidentally bite his lip a little during the kiss as he pushes inside you. Harry lets out a surprised exhale.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” you apologize with what little air you have in you.

“Don’t be,” Harry tells you, in which he continues to kiss you like they do in the movies. Your fingers rake up his back, leaving invisible lines in their wake. “In fact,” he says roughly, “you can do that again if you like.”

You giggle again until your kiss is all smiles and teeth. He slides inside you and out at such a calculated speed, you feel yourself around every perpetually-impressive inch of him. Your hands snake up to hold his head closer to yours, burying themselves in his wildly sexy and curly dark hair. His own hand caresses your leg on its journey north, then hitches your thigh up.

His eyes are entrancing, but you’ve always known that - a strikingly clear blue - it was the first thing you noticed about Harrison Wells when you met him. His eyes. They captured you from that moment and they’ve never let go of you. They never will and you’re thrilled about it. The way he’s looking at you now… you’d be almost embarrassed to say you could get off to that alone. His look is unwavering - like he doesn’t want to miss a single moment of his new bride when she comes.

His thrusts inside you have noticeably increased in speed, no longer the sensual, taking-your-time kind of pace. You can feel it whirling around like a hurricane as your body starts to jerk up and meet his thrusts each time, feeling desperate to have him hit that sweet spot. You take his face in your hands so that your foreheads touch, your lips merely ghosting each other as you breathe one breath. 

“I love you, God, I love you.”

“Harrison, Harrison, I love you, so, so, so much-”

Your shared confessions of love, gentle calls of each other’s name, and outcries of passion bring you together even closer than before. The previous times this evening were all fun and arguably dirty, but this was entirely different. This was the two of you finally coming together and taking the time to show and share the love so perfectly. You didn’t think you could love Harry any more than you already did, but every day, every moment you spend together proves you wrong. There’s always so much more to love about him.

Harry is looking at you again, the way he does, resting on his elbow facing you. He looks entirely too much like a sex-god for his own good. He doesn’t even need to try.

“What?” you ask.

“I just can’t believe how lucky I am,” your sweetie-pie, love-machine husband replies.

“You? No, I’m the lucky one, here,” you laugh. “I never thought I’d find love and then there you were, practically crashed right into me in the Cortex when you first showed up.”

“Well, I never thought I’d love again, and yet here I am- here we are.”

“You know? I think we’re both pretty damn lucky, my husband.”

“That we are, my wife.”

You rest your head on his chest, his steady breathing helping in making you drift off for the night. Harry never once lets go of your hand in his on his stomach.

And while you may have fallen asleep, he’s almost there himself but manages to give one last thanks to the Multiverse for making him indeed the luckiest man on all the Earths.