Harry stared at the blood red clock - its snarky light taunting him with time. 2:36am. He indulged in a soft, annoyed groan before rolling from his side and onto his stomach. Insomnia was a curse that came and went, particularly when a deadline was close, so he expected this.
But it didn't make it any better.
He'd done all the usual things in his routine - warm drink, no bright lights, melatonin - but this was persistent. His brows furrowed in the dark and his eyes dared to crack open. The pitch black still of night enveloped him and another groan escaped his lips as his cheek squished against the pillow. Nuzzling the soft surface, he found his hips grinding into the sheets as he tried to convince his brain to sleep. It only worked to kindle a flame in his belly and he flopped to his back. In his nightstand, the old reliable duo of his vibe and lube lay in wait, and Harry's hand found it with expert ease. Having an orgasm before bed was another remedy for his sleepless nights, after all.
He got comfortable and felt deftly in the darkness for the tender, hot place between his legs that ached so pleasantly. Years of growth on testosterone had been welcome among the many changes and in the forest of coarse hair, his fingers brushed his throbbing member. A light sigh left his lips as he took a moment to palm his crotch, hips rolling into the pressure, before popping open the lube. He took time gauging the right amount in the dark and pursed his lips at the cool then warm touch it brought his skin. Legs spreading, he held the vibe poised at juuust the right spot and then…
Click.
Click, click.
Nothing.
Harry's eyes squeezed shut tighter than before as he mouthed "oh, come on" fiercely.
He'd forgotten to charge it.
Again.
The old standby would have to do as he slid the vibe back in this drawer and resumed his position, left hand sneaking down between his legs as his head fell against the pillow. His thoughts ran like a jukebox reel, figuring out which collection of thoughts would be enough, the erotic tracks in his head running on auto.
Harry was a man of simple pleasures in most things and jerkoff dreams were no different. A pair of hands came to his mind's eye - mimicking real life as his own hands guided the vision. These hands were a bit larger than his, belonging to someone he didn't bother imagining a face to. It was a man though, no offense to his late wife, but he was in the mood for that tonight.
Finger tips traced slow, even circles on his dick (his preferred term though others might debate it) in a way that drew his hips up and down with ease. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth as his right hand groped at his chest, grabbing the soft tissue that he loved some days and loathed others. The hands in his mind connected to a body now, one he flopped between toned and soft, unsure which would please him most. In the end, he licked his lips as he settled on a runner's body. Someone toned, nice legs, decent arms. Harry groaned imagining that body over his own, hands exploring his body with a sense of reverence and wonder. He conjured the words in his head to spark the fire in his belly.
"I've barely touched you - you're this wet already?"
Or maybe something like…
"Can I put it in? I need you so bad…"
The voice in mind was so gentle, a bit timid, even. Unsure but heavy with desire and need.
Harry's breath hitched as his mind wandered and his fingers followed suit, shifting in bed for more access. He wanted to be fucked, it'd been so long, and he was so ready. Fingers slipped inside easily and relished in the warm, wetness that pulsed around them. Harry took a moment to adjust to it - riding out the small orgasm before he continued on. The pretty words from the figure in his head stirred him up almost as much as his fingers. In his mind, fingers were this person's dick, hard, thick, hot.
"Fuck…" Harry breathed.
He trained his focus on that image. That toned body thrusting into him mercilessly as he lay on his back, legs up and held tight. He pictured himself grabbing the person's hips, pulling him deeper, deeper, feeling the heat spread to his core. The figure's hands knew what he liked, one moving down to touch his dick as he fucked Harry into oblivion. If it were real, Harry would be able to see the flushed face above, lock eyes with him as they both reached their peak. Deeper, deeper, faster, harder, until-
Harry groaned, turning his head to muffle the sound into his pillow. His fingers massaged that tender spot inside him and tears welled in his eyes at the force of his orgasm. The muscles tightened in cycles around the digits as he gingerly felt his dick pulse in time. He wanted to whimper at how sweet the release was, feeling calm wash over his dopamine soaked brain as his breath steadied. The image in his mind became a little clearer and his lips pulled to a satisfied smile. Above him, sweat soaked and gorgeous, was James Sunderland.
The man sleeping in the next room over.
Who he would have to see in the morning.
Harry's eyes snapped open.
He rolled into his stomach - face buried in his pillow as he let out a soundless scream. Eyes half-lidded, he chanced a glance at the clock.
3:15am.
Lips thinned, Harry grumbled to himself as his thoughts fizzled out and sleep finally set in.
"Fuck it…"
End.