Smut and fluff

thrilled by the still of your hand

Harry was beginning to think he should make an appointment with a ghost whisperer. Were those real? Either way, he needed someone to help him excise the demon that was haunting him.

It took him awhile to realize what was happening. At first it was the little things. Things around his apartment weren't where he left them, he heard weird noises, and his front door would open and close on it's own. If he lived in an old house, sure, but he lived in a fairly modern apartment complex with an interior front door.

He also just had this vague feeling that someone was watching him.

That was when the dreams started. Wet dreams. He was almost thirty years old, he hadn't had wet dreams in forever, but sure enough there were days he would wake up covered in his own come.

He didn't hate that he was starting each day more relaxed and refreshed, but it seemed odd that over and over again he had absolutely no memory of it.

A week after it started happening more regularly, the touching started.

It was a Saturday evening and he was relaxing at home watching Netflix, beginning to drift off as his eyelids drooped, when all of a sudden there was a pressure on his shoulders. Like someone was massaging him. He jumped, startled, suddenly very awake but the pressure remained steady, keeping him in place.

Uneasy, Harry remained in his seat, but the tension laced through his back and he held his breath in anticipation of being violently murdered.

Instead of murdering him, the hands continued to soothe him. They rubbed his back steadily until he relaxed a little bit more. Frantically, Harry checked the reflection in the window, but there was no one behind him that he could see.

The hands begged to differ.

Everything about this was weird, Harry couldn't deny it. The hands migrated up to his neck and then began raking through his hair. It was like they knew how much that feeling aroused him. He couldn't help it.

As the pleasure washed over him his eyes closed and he gave himself over to it.

Hours later, with his alarm blaring, Harry woke up in his bed completely naked. It wasn't so odd for him to have slept like that, except for the fact that he didn't remember taking any of his clothes off. Or brushing his teeth, or getting into bed.

The last thing he remembered were the phantom hands on his shoulders as they dug into his hair.

He felt his dick twitch and sure enough, when he looked down, he was hard, yes, but there was also a patch of dried come on his thigh.

Groaning, he pawed at his nightstand for his phone to turn the alarm off.

Oddly, it read 6:30. He didn't usually get up until 7. He had to have accidentally taken an Ambien or something the night before.

Oh, well. He was awake, so he might as well hop in the shower.

Under the hot spray he thought he might have heard the door creak, but he was probably just hearing things because he was so on edge after the night before. He stood still for a moment but was loath to turn the shower off because it was the perfect temperature.

Silence.

Or, it was silent, until the curtain moved.

Harry jumped again the same way he did the night before. At least that he remembered.

The hands were back.

Fingers circled his wrists and brought his arms down until they were laying at his sides. They went for his chest next, rubbing, massaging, the same way they had done the night before only this time on his chest.