"Listen to me, your body is not a temple. Temples can be destroyed and desecrated. Your body is a forest - thick canopies of maple trees and sweet scented wildflowers sprouting in the underwood. You will grow back, over and over, no badly how badly you are devastated."

- Beau Taplin

____

She was his first.

Like the blue veins along the inside of his inked wrists she grew with him and she grew within him, running like tracks throughout his body as if she was the roadmap behind his steering wheel, circling his beating heart and lining the walls of his lungs; with each breath he inhaled her perfume and with each exhale he repeated the words she spoke on the night he knew that she'd be his forever.

I love you.

Her name was Leigh-Anne.

She had chocolate eyes and honey brown skin and curly hair that she changed as frequently as he repeated the words, "Don't change for him," within her ear. Her voice was a song like the robins recited each morning outside of his window and her laugh was a sound that rained upon his skin and danced like the drops along the pavement.

They were kids.

Eighteen, when it happened.

Only eighteen, when he knew.

Harry was not a virgin.

He was, however, a dutiful friend.

He was, however, livid when this friend was left without a date at their prom.

This, this is why he'd dropped everything - the girl he'd asked previously and the matching corsage he'd already bought - to take Leigh, instead.

Because after eleven years of sleepovers and car rides and study sessions and late night calls whispered in darkness, it's just what best friends did.

"You two? Dates? Didn't see that coming," his sister had joked as she stood beside their mother, cameras flashing, pictures snapping at a mile a minute. "Why don't you two get married why you're at it, yeah?"

They'd both spoken at the same time.

"Shut up, Gem."

For the most part of the night, it'd seemed, they talked. About their futures and university and how they were going to be so far apart. They laid side by side on Harry's mattress having ditched their friends and come home. They stayed up and watched night darken into the promise of day and swapped whispers and memories as his ring-clad fingers played lightly with the pads of her little ones.

"This summer, let's do something big," he'd said. "Let's go somewhere, Leigh."

"Where?" She'd laughed.

"Anywhere that's not here," he had replied. And he'd pleaded, "C'mon," at the look on her face. "It could be fun, yeah? Just you and me. C'mon, Leigh," he'd nearly whined at this point. "You're going to America, love, and I'll be stuck here."

"And I'll still come home, Harry."

"But, Los Angeles is so far away."

"But, we'll still talk, won't we?" She asks, not wanting to think of the future; not wanting to think of the change.

"Of course," he replied as if she were silly for asking. "But, it's a nine hour difference. You'll be wide awake and I'll be dead."

She laughed.

And he propped himself on his elbow, sending a pout down at the girl beside him.

"Ah, don't look at me like that, Haz."

"But, I'm gonna miss you."

"Don't make me sad now, you cornball."

That's when he began to stare.

His eyes ran over this space of skin stretching between her collar bone and the base of her neck and he'd started to stare for so long that Leigh-Anne had only rolled her eyes and sighed.

"God, Harry. You've spaced, haven't you?"

Harry had grinned, eyes flickering to hers, for a moment.

"Nope," he'd replied, dimple popping.

She laughed behind her hand. "You're hopeless, you know."

Harry had only partly heard those words, too. He was too busy staring at that pretty, pretty piece of skin.

And he lifted his finger and traced.

She could feel his breath against her neck as she frowned. "What're you doing, Harry?"

"You're beautiful, Leigh," he had whispered. And from one bone to the next, he drew swirling patterns with the pad of his finger. His white sleeves rolled up, tuxedo jacket on the floor, Leigh-Anne got an eyeful of moonlit tattoos. "So, so beautiful..."

She only chuckled, because Harry was random and she was more than used to this. "You say that to all the girls, don't you?"

Leigh-Anne was not his first.

He had had sęx before; plenty of times before, actually, his first time being with some girl at a party when he was fourteen. He had been sloppy and inexperienced and had gotten off too quickly and had he not just crossed a huge milestone into manhood it would have probably been a major disaster.

He had told Leigh about it and she had laughed.

The next time, it was different. It was with a girlfriend who he'd really liked. Girls here and there, they'd come and gone in different places under different circumstances, so Leigh was not his first.

But, she was.

You know how they say that sęx is different when it's with that one person, that one person who turns everything upside down and changes things? You know how they say that the act itself is a spiritual, out of body experience when two people finally come together who care for the other more than they do themselves?

Leigh, in Harry's mind, was his first.

He hovered over her, his body large and long against hers and he realized, with knees and elbows pinned beside her body, how close he'd been to her all his life and how different she seemed beneath him then.

Her body stretched out before him, something was different. Something new stirred within him as he stared, focusing on the tiny valley between her neck and collarbone and realized that he had never before in his life seen such a perfect piece of skin.

He lifted her fingers, playing with them.

"Harry?"

"Leigh?"

She frowned, watching the way his green eyes were transfixed upon the digits between his long fingers.

"Let's go somewhere, Leigh."

"Where?" She laughed. "Where would we go?"

"Anywhere," he replied. "Please? It could be anywhere you want."

And he kissed her.

Gently, softly, swiftly he brought his lips to hers. He'd never done that before, save for the few kisses on the cheek he'd placed at holidays and in greeting. He'd never before kissed her like this, and she tasted like apple cider and champagne and the icing from the cake they'd eaten after dinner. She smelled like Leigh-Anne and tasted sweet, just like he thought she would after nights he'd lie awake wondering how she might.

Her lips were full and soft and he hadn't known exactly what had come over him in the moment. He laid in the darkness of his bedroom beneath the stars and felt overwhelmed by dormant feelings for his best friend revived after a disastrous prom. His fingers dropped from hers and felt for the satin along her waist and he kissed her as if she'd pull away. He kissed her like he would do after graduation and before she would leave for university in America. He kissed her and licked along the inside of her lips and sucked upon her tongue and felt his weight on top of her as he felt her fingers in his long, curly hair.

"Harry..." She panted. Hand flat against the birds on his chest, she paused. "What are we doing?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "But," he paused, daring to stare her in the eyes, "I like it. I want it. Do you like it?"

And Leigh-Anne never wavered with anything. She was never unsure, always confident and strong.

"Yes," she replied, no hints of trepidation.

That was all he needed to hear.

His lips devoured hers, and her fingers tightened in his hair.

He left kisses along her jawline, tongue laying lines along her earlobe and down her neck. His hands grasped for her dress, their legs tangled in tuxedo pants and the blankets atop his bed. He bit upon the skin adjacent her shoulder, licking and kissing along the marks upon each of her soft gasps.

"Harry."

He dropped more kisses upon her collar, pulling down her dress as far as he could, lips and teeth and tongue over more and more and more of her skin.

Her hands flew to his shirt, fingers grasping for buttons.

He helped her, rising to steady himself upon his knees so he could remove it himself.

Leigh-Anne took in an eyeful of ink across the hard lines of his chest. She pushed herself upright, and he grabbed for the zipper on her dress, watching the blue silk slip to the floor from her fingers as she lay down before him in nothing but black lace.

"Harry?" She smirked. "You're staring."

He paused.

"Are you alright?"

Heartbeats hammered in the darkness.

Her brown eyes were challenging.

"Are you?"

He traced her silhouette with his eyes. Beneath the moonlight, he watched the curvature of her breast rise and fall, dropping off to the flat plane that was her stomach, smoothed out and forking into those graceful legs once hidden beneath the fabrics of her prom dress.

He nodded.

Her eyes sparkled with mirth. "Alright, then."

"Are you sure?" He asked. "I don't wanna do this if you're not, and-"

Her soft peals of laughter fell upon his skin like an afternoon shower.

He frowned. "What?"

"Don't do that, Harry. You're always doing that with me."

"Do what?" He asked, repositioning himself above her. "I'm honestly not doing anything, Leigh."

"You worry," she whispered, and his green eyes are speckled in the darkness. She pinched him.

"Ow!" He jumped, nearly falling from the bed. "Leigh! What's that for?"

"You weren't worried when you shagged Tracy or Melissa or whoever the last mindless slut was, so why're you any different with me?"

Because she was his best friend.

"'Cause," he said. "C'mon," he faltered for the right words, "this is different!"

"Not a good enough reason," she'd said. And she looked him up and down, tugging at his belt. "Pants."

He complied, kicking the trousers to the floor before he laid on top of her, lips upon hers. Teeth clicking together, he slipped his fingers beneath lace and felt himself grow even more aroused.

"Fück."

Leigh-Anne bucked her hips against his hand, "God, Harry. Jesus," she exclaimed, to which he smirked, teasing her first with one and then two fingers.

Her breathing accelerated, fingers grasping at bed sheets.

He stopped, and she panted and he liked it, the sound of her heavy breathing in his ears. Harry dropped kisses down her neck and down her ribs and along the inside of her thighs. He sucked on his fingers and she groaned, before he hooked his arms around her hips, dropping between her legs.

Her fingers wound through his hair. "Shit, Harry."

His breath was warm against her exposed skin.

He caught her gaze.

"Wanna make sure you're ready, yeah?"

Her name was Leigh-Anne.

She was his first, because she wasn't just a shag after prom.

She was his first, because he realized immediately that he wanted this; he wanted them.

She was his first, because not long after would they be thousands of miles apart.

She was his first, because five years later, she would not be his.

She was his first, because her wedding invitation would sit unopened on his desk because somehow, he knew.

She was his first.

And by some miracle, he was praying that he might convince her to be his last.

-~*~-

WHAT THE FŪCK DID I JUST WRITE

OH MY GOD

OKay so thank @mamita96 for this smut 'cause she requested a leigharry 'something' and this is what I got after years of no ideas so i'm sorry if this is horrible because it is hella poorly edited.

REALLY WANNA HEAR YOUR COMMENTS.