Reactive Envy

Chapter Thirteen: The second time....

Harry bites on his bottom lip so hard he can taste blood.

He is staring at a picture of Louis with his messy hair and ray bands perched on his button nose. A familiar cheeky smirk on his face, naked shoulders, and what looks to be some tattoos underneath the sharpest collarbones he's ever seen. Harry can already feel where the blood is going.

He swore he wouldn't do this again, but maybe one last wank won't matter. Two wrongs don't make a right, but the wrong feels so right. He can feel guilty about it later, but for right now, He's stiff and throbbing. Making the decision to relieve himself over Louis again will probably haunt his conscience. Still, he needs this now more than being respectful.

Shoving a hand into his sweatpants, staring at Louis and his collarbones, sharp jaw, and thin pink lips, he tugs his rock-hard cock quickly. He feels beads of sweat on his forehead, his long curls sticking to his head.

Louis is everything he has ever wanted in a partner, not just physically. From the little bit he has seen of his personality, it fits harry so well. He gets so hot and bothered thinking of domestic things. Coming home after work, cooking dinner together, having movie nights cuddling on the couch, and taking weekend strolls around Wellington.

Now, thinking of these things with Louis makes his cock throb in his hand.

Tugging faster and gripping tighter, harry whimpers Louis' name over and over like a mantra. His other hand trails up to grab his neck, applying pressure slowly on both sides, thinking how he would love to beg, 'Choke me, Louis.' Two more quick tugs, a squeeze of his neck, and Harry is spurting up his shirt and over his fist.

He wipes the cum on his sweatpants, breathing quickly, and uses his shirt to wipe sweat from his forehead. Setting his laptop aside, he breathes deeply, trying to calm his rapid heart rate. Leaning back on the couch, wondering why Louis is affecting him so much.

He's come across men before who are attractive, but nothing has felt like this in a long time; no one has made his heart race and cheeks flush from just a smirk since he was a teenager. He needs to talk to someone about this before he loses his mind but talking to someone makes this feel like he has a problem. Which is a scary thought.

Making a promise that he'll be home by 11, he gets up to get changed and throws his dirty clothes in the wash. Pulling his skinny black jeans on, a yellow Hawaiian shirt, and his favourite boots. Harry grabs his phone, keys, and wallet off the nightstand, telling himself over and over he will be home by 11.

If he says it enough, he might believe it to be true.

Harry is feeling slightly defeated but looking forward to a beer. Making his way out of the house, he is sure to lock the front door behind him, ready to go visit Niall.