Work Text:
Harry didn't used to cry when she came.
Tonight, when the wave crests—when the building pressure twists her clit into that penetrating spike—the dam breaks. Her groan shatters into a sob. Her finger stills.
The wave of her orgasm ebbs, lapping softly, nearly soothing.
It conjures Louis, who'd brush her tears away. Whose fingers, clever as they were comforting, might then venture elsewhere.
Tonight, it's only Harry's fingers.
She slides them deeper, gathering wetness to start on her clit again, pretends the screaming in her nerves is excitement.
Maybe, this time, the pain might keep her from crying.