The faint trickle of light under the bedroom door made James’ brow twitch – he could have sworn he turned everything off when he left the kitchen a few hours earlier…
Sitting up, he saw the clock blaring 2:08am and rubbed his eyes before throwing on a pair of jeans. He carefully, quietly, opened the door before padding down the hall. Rounding the corner, James’ brows rose.
“Oh…” he breathed, genuine surprise rising from his throat as he stood outside the kitchen, “you’re up early.”
“Could say the same for you.”
Harry’s reply was playful which betrayed the look on his face as he steadily rubbed his eyes. It took a moment for the blond’s brain to catch up with the image before him. It was Harry as usual except…not.
The older man sat slumped at the table, hair a mess compared to its usually neat look, wearing the least amount of clothing James had seen up until now. His green eyes darted over the man; white tank top, boxers, socks unevenly pulled up. The blond’s lips thinned as pulled his attention back. He’d been spoken to, and Harry’s half-lidded, dark eyes seemed to want a reply.
“Uh…well, I-” James fidgeted at the entryway, hand reflexively rubbing his bicep, pressure trying to work the words from his mouth.
“It’s fine,” Harry cut in, waving a hand dangerously close to the mug on the table, “sleep’s a bitch, right?”
James replied with a small rumble of affirmation. Harry had a bad habit, some might say, of talking over others. However, it was a saving grace for James, who’d still been trying to find his voice. Sure, he had things he could say…But getting the words out…well, he’d always struggled with that.
“It’s insomnia for me,” Harry noted, pulling down his lowered lids for emphasis, “comes and goes and it looks like this is a ‘comes’ type of night.”
The space in the kitchen was soon filled with the writer’s words – tone even and steady in spite of his exhaustion. It was painted on his face in broad strokes. Eyes not quite as energetic, movements a little slower, words still quick though not as sure. James took the opportunity to enter the space now, feeling like he’d been invited and thus, allowed. He wandered to a cabinet for a glass and did the obvious thing of filling it with water before turning to lean against the edge of the sink. He wasn’t even thirsty.
“And that’s that about that.” Harry finished, punctuating his tangent with a dramatic display of laying his head on the table; arms folded in front as a cushion. James smirked; eyes roaming over the man across the way. Green eyes narrowed slightly to catch the shapes of Harry’s slim body, noting the dark hair that generously dusted his forearms and travelled upward before thinning near his shoulders. As Harry lifted his head, James’ focus shifted. Picking up on little movements and tiny details in his environment had been bred out of necessity and the activation brought on some anxiety. He inhaled carefully and took a sip from his glass to steady himself. The tank top Harry wore was similar to most of his clothing in that it was cut fairly low. With it being a little big too, James’ noticed a flash of Harry’s chest, as well-covered with hair as his arms, with nipples poking through atop slopes that were somehow…soft? It was a subtle topographical change that could easily be missed yet…
James blinked to lock in the image as Harry sat back, looking over his mug and taking a sip. The blond chanced a glance at the cloth covered chest again to try and confirm what he thought he’d seen. He absentmindedly attempted to sip from his own glass and noticed it was empty. The sound of Harry chuckling snapped James from his observations.
“I’ll be here for a while, don’t let me keep you, James.”
The two locked eyes and a wave of goosebumps erupted along James’ arms as he noticed the smirk playing on Harry’s lips. Had he picked up on how much James had been staring…?
“R-right, yeah.” The blond nodded, turning to put his glass in the sink, “I’ll get this later…”
Harry acknowledged the statement with a dismissive wave and bigger, lopsided smile as James’ brain went into flight mode. He felt hot, exposed, on edge, as he did his best to move at a reasonable pace and escape to his room. He pressed his back against the door as it closed and locked with a soft click. James bent over from the effort of the sigh that escaped his lips.
What was that?
What happened?
Well, it was a normal conversation, a totally regular, perfectly natural interaction and-
His brain reminded him of Harry’s chest and James’ eyes widened as his unfocused gaze caught a spot on the floor. His lips parted and his skin flushed as the words flooded him suddenly in reference to what he’d seen.
Boobs. Breasts. Tits.
That was the only conclusion.
If there were gears in his head, they were grinding loudly, shooting off sparks, radiating heat and in danger of smoking. He didn’t know what to do with what he saw though his body seemed to as an uncomfortable tightness made itself known at his groin. James straightened, ruffled his already messy hair, and moved to the center of the room. He stood for a moment, trying to force himself out of the thoughts as he wrestled out of his jeans. It was time to get back to sleep, he decided. There were things he didn’t have to worry about, and this was one of them. So, he would just lay down and close his eyes and hug a pillow close to his chest and…
After an eternity of minutes, James buried his face into the pillow, brows knotting together tightly. His dick throbbed in his boxer briefs, and strained against the fabric, begging for some input. James heaved a sigh and the heat of his breath warmed the pillow and his already hot skin. His hips rolled slightly, tipping up to meet the end of the pillow. He pressed his thighs together and nuzzled the soft material with his cheek. What would it feel like to hold Harry? What would he smell like? Would he be as warm as James was guessing?
The questions swirled in the blond’s head and were answered bit by bit to make a more complete image. Harry’s messy hair pressed against his face, smelling like lavender and old cigarettes (did he even smoke?), thick and soft against James’ lips. If the writer shifted, James could kiss his neck, leaving little marks if he really wanted. The thought shot a twitch directly to his dick and his hips bucked against the tight fabric of his underwear. He wished, he wished, he wished…
For a tighter hold. For Harry to respond in kind; shifting closer to meet James’ eager erection. James could picture the man in his arms guiding his hands steadily up… Inviting James to roam through his coarse chest hair, fingers tracing over Harry’s contours until a moan leaves his lips. James’ fingertips brushing over a sensitive nipple. There were so many details to fill in and James let his desire take over to make up for it. Overlaying memories of past experience with what he knew now to bring his fantasy to life. He adjusted the picture ever so slightly – Harry’s moan being swung between something high and thin to a more gravelly rumble – trying to find just the thing to urge him on. Before James knew it, he was ravishing the writer completely, biting his exposed neck as his hips ground out the sounds from Harry’s deepest parts just from touch alone.
James swore under his breath as he noticed how warm he’d gotten and how a bead of sweat trailed down his back. His hands gripped the pillow enough to white knuckle which translated to how it might feel to grab Harry’s chest all the same. Maybe he’d pinch and rub and massage Harry’s nipples all the while, bringing them to a stiff, pink attention. He imagined it would come with moans or whimpers or cries, something to validate and satisfy James’ need for praise. The thought moved quickly as his dick twitched with urgency in his boxer briefs, the end nearing and the image growing more intense as Harry turned to face him, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, voice unable to form disarming words. James would catch the writer’s mouth in his, tongues rolling together, lips being nipped, until-
James swallowed his moan as the pillow crumpled in his arms. His hips thrust in time with his orgasm, a warm, dark mess gathering and dispersing in his underwear as his moan turned to whimpers and finally heavy breaths…
He lay there for a time with the pillow in his arms, brain fizzling with a delicious bubbly wash. His previously shut eyes fluttered open to gaze without focus in the darkness as his breath steadied bit by bit. The pleasant afterglow was quick to wane, however, as the warmth at his crotch cooled, and the realization hit. Harry was still in the kitchen on the other side of his door, at the end of a long yet short hall... Completely unaware of what James had just done. The wash in his brain turned from sweet to sour as the need for penance was called to action – harsh words flooding James in an instant.
Thankfully, their bite lacked the usual pain, his body somehow still relaxed in spite of his inner turmoil. Were he more awake, he guessed a shame filled cry might follow but for now, he settled on a weak mix of a whimper and groan into the pillow that filled the space in his arms.
End.