There was something about Harry in Italy.

Helene had to confess, at least to herself, that he looked better here. She wondered if it was because their first tryst had been after the Bologna show. And their last one had been in Umbria. Maybe she wore colored glasses filtered through that special Italian light. The light that was concentrated on the steps of  this museum in the eternal city. They'd barely kissed cheeks when she arrived, and she had been communicating with his assistant and Jeff, mostly.

They hadn't talked.

She told herself that was best because, well, boyfriend in the interim or no, she wasn't really over him. He was never really out of sight, she had memory cards full of him, plus the general obsession with him. So, Harry was never really out of mind.

But she had been effectively distracted before she got here. Hadn't even given herself a Harry pep talk. "He likes to fuck you, but doesn't want you for more. He's a good man, but your feelings for him are not the same as his for you," etc. Helene really hadn't thought she needed it.

Rene was home, had been in her bed until two days ago, satisfied all the itches Harry had mapped for her to show to a new man's fingertips.

Helene was sure she didn't need it. That she was Over it, and him, the elusive them. She wondered who Harry had been seeing, offhandedly, without an emotional attachment she reasoned. A man that attractive and skilled deserved a lovely boy or girl to keep him warm.

And that was the last thought she had had about it, she realized.   As she cursed her heels and crouched down to shoot an up angle on the steps of Harry driving the crowd gathered for him on the steps wild. She imagined if anybody was looking they could see right up her little skirt. Thank God for opaque tights.

Now, well the all white was striking. And was he always this tall? He smelled different, she'd noticed immediately. Not like a gorgeous wood paneled office and faint cigar, but instead something undefinable and alluring.

Fuck, she was fucked.  And suddenly thankful she and Rene had had a open discussion early on about the logistics of sex and two people whose career took them around the globe more often than not.

He'd brought it up, and she thought it was a great idea, though she didn't admit to herself until  this moment, watching her boss in beautiful Italian sunlight, that it might have been so sweet to her ears because it would allow her to fuck Harry.

She really wanted to fuck Harry. He flashed his pastel nails at her in a wave and she captured it, in the viewfinder there were trails in the light. Magic.

Magic fingers.

There wasn't time to think much on that. The show was starting and Harry disappeared as he did at public events sometimes. So, she was free to watch the show. By phone light. Apparently, Alessandro was less captivated by light than dark.

The night progressed and she found herself with Harris in the show and later at the party. She was surprised he didn't know Harry was performing, she supposed that was great for him. He still got to be a fan. Helene had long since crossed a line there. She was so much less, his employee. Harry's thought out plans didn't catch her flat footed, because she was documenting them. And so much more, because she knew smell of his inner thigh and taste of his neck.

She really wanted to lick the strong veins in his neck watching him hit that high note with Stevie.

His own, real, high note was throatier. The one she could recall and still felt between her thighs. He'd been resting, his skin glowed and his voice shone.

"Fuck!" She muttered to herself. She was gonna have to decide whether to telegraph her need to him, or steer clear.

That idea went out the window, the left turn away, when Harry made a beeline for her not long into the after-after party at the hotel. Harry was officially off duty now, posted a picture with his new cast mates, including Harris, which explained the young person's excitement. Harry was immediately handed a drink by Jeffrey, in a fetching suit, and his head came up to where she was standing, stashing her camera.

His eye contact was compelling, so she returned it. So much for making herself scarce, if not unavailable. He was walking to her with his fresh drink, resplendent with Italian summer.

"Been a while, love! Look smashing! Like the Yin to my Yang!" He bussed her cheek, then the other. Full continental. And she swore he sniffed her hair. Fucker.

"Yes, you do stand out in all white. I almost feel...boring!" She felt like that sometimes, she was used to being the pretty one in her male/female relationships.

He looked at her sheer blouse. Scoffed, "Hardly!"

"Well, you're hard to one up, fashion wise. Though this look, definitely inspired by the Met gala." She teased gesturing to herself. He'd been nervous, she'd heard, though she had had another gig at the time.

"Oh, well, I'm sure the people would rather see you in a see through top than me." He shrugged modestly.

Helene tapped her temple and raised her brow.

"I'm inclined to disagree." She gave a pointed gaze at the sparrows and was immediately distracted. She wasn't sure what compelled her but, well, it was crooked. Without a thought, she centered the cross in Harry's chest hair.

And further damned, when she'd taken her hand away, she had caught his nipple. It hardened. She wondered if anything else did on him. She knew the effect on her.

He gave her that look, the one that always got her all wet, and her tights were suddenly uncomfortable, sodden.

And then, as always, he'd been spurred away. She's saved, and pressing her thighs together with new all white visions swirling through her head to put her to bed.

She caught up with some singer and Harris. It's a laugh. Something of a distraction. She'd been able to put away her libido, mostly, until would not doubt demand attention in her hotel room.

More distraction was the good wine seemingly self-refilling in her hand.

It was not long before she had to find the toilets.

She'd been washing her hands, when there was a knock. Bold, two rapid taps. Patience was her wish to whoever is out there, or maybe they'd had too much wine as well she thought in sympathy. Hopefully not too bad a stomach.

"Un instant, si vous plait." Came out before she can think in Italian.

"Helene." The voice was unmistakable.

She unlocked the door.

He slid into the low lighting. She wondered if Alessandro had that as a standing order. All dark all the time.

Harry was a bright white spot.

He locked the door, then. Helene watched him do it in the mirror. Immediately, with the sound of it sliding home, he was crowding into her non existent space. The ridge of the sink undoubtedly would bruise her hips. She may have minded, but He's already caught the  back of her blonde hair, turned her mouth to him.

It's less a kiss than a shared breath. He tasted sweet, from minty gum as always, and spicy from the tequila he'd been sipping. Redolent. His new scent, that already made its place in her memory, surrounds her. 

His hand was also beneath her skirt, rubbing over the juncture of her thighs. She knew she was wet through. "Fuck, you're hot, wet." Harry breathed against her lips, and it's a kiss too. Their mouths continued to whisper over each other. He gripped her throat and look at her in the mirror, a white field with her tiny frame as a black dot.

"Yes?"

God, that he always asked, sooo hot.

"Yes," leaked out of her mouth.

She felt his finger on the stitching at the side of the white section in the middle of her tights, there at the juncture of her thighs. Where the fabric was weakest, where she is weakest. His painted nails opened a whole. She squirmed to get the finger near the money spot. Anything to get him there.

"Yes?"

He asked again and she wondered if he didn't hear her, or if her verbal agreement wasn't enthusiastic enough. Her bodily concurrence was running into his palm she was sure.

But saying "YES!" To him was so hot.

He agreed, if his "Fuck me!" was anything to go by.

And then the crotch of her tights were an afterthought and she could hear his zipper going down, and keened when his fingers left her.

The sound became a moan when he pushed her forward, arching her back and pressing her cheek to the mirror. Her heavy breath left a mark before retreating a bit.

The fog grew and didn't recede when his ample tip, her favorite inch of him, though the place between his sparrows was giving it serious competition, pressed into her.

"'Arry!" She could have written his name in the exhalation, it was so heavy.

"Helene!" He grit out as he glanced to the side of her cervix. God he was big, and that move alone, that she'd walked Rene through, was worth it.

The next one was definitely more for her than him. If he was looking to shoot his load, he'd maintain those deep, evocative strokes, but instead, he pulled her ass back a little, she grabbed the faucet to support herself now- the mirror wouldn't bear any weight at this angle. He used the distance between her hips and the sink edge to press her belly down, arch her ass up.

"Sweetest little ass. I dream about what you let me do to you last time we were in Italy!" He said between his teeth.

"Ahhh, me too!" Helene moaned when she realized the new angle was all about hitting her spot, that root part of her clit.

"Mon dieu, Harry!"

Her forehead touched the cold metal of the faucet. She couldn't support her neck while he tapped tapped tapped away, nudging her senseless, until her entire body tensed, and released, the flood of energy sizzling in her veins and out her mouth in curses.

"Yes!" he answered himself and switched to the longer strokes while she whined and pulsed out of rhythm around his cock. Aftershocks after he shattered her earth. One proved to be his undoing, and he blew along his own fault line, heaving to a heavy stop

His head, she could feel the sweat through the tight mesh between her shoulder blades, rested on her while they caught their breath and he wilted. She heard him tie off the condom. Laughed when he tossed it into the trash and seemed to not care it was on the top, so the next bathroom user would know somebody had fucked there.

From the look of her, they'd know who.

"Merde." She breathed after she'd straightened her hair. She loved her sex hair, though it was obvious, but when she smoothed her skirt, she saw the growing trails where her stocking were running. She pulled her skirt back up.

"What're you doing?" Harry asked after he'd tucked himself back in. Helene laughed. He hadn't even taken off his rose colored glasses.

"Taking off my tights, they're ruined, and, well, anybody will see the bullseye they are making and....guess?" She shrugged. She didn't really care, but hated to be so indiscreet, obvious.

"No, I can help!" He flashed his brow, and the switch back to boyishness after sex god was forever jarring. Lovely.  He picked her up and sat her on the sink and produced the purse she hadn't seen him bring in. She supposed that was where the condom had come from.

"You're carrying nail polish?" She laughed.

"Yeah, when they chip I pick at them, unless I have clear coat." He smiled at her amusement.  "Now, quiet, I have to concentrate!" He bent his head and she sympathized with his knees from the crouch he was in. He definitely couldn't get his white knees on the bathroom filth.

Later, She snapped a phone pic of them as yin and yang. It was their thing, the pictures, and he'd rolled his eyes, but gave good face in the mirror behind her.

She catalogued her changes in her own hotel bathroom when she excused herself not long after, a quick escape to her lodging close by. The sex hair.

And all the tiny dots of clear polish, that she ran hands over like Braille. She almost threw them out, the tights. But they deserved a pictures, or five, to capture Harry.

The boy who'd fuck her over the sink in a public bathroom, then spent 20 minutes preserving her modesty by fixing her tights.

In the morning, she was sad to not see him in the Italian dawn, but was thankful for the Roman night.

The dark inside all of his light.