Enemies || l.s.

1.1

wow sorry this story plot is trash lmao
This was also marked mature lol so it was private im

Harry's POV

Harry sat on his bed, the full moon shining relentlessly through his bedroom window. It almost created an eerie view, almost making a shiver break down his neck.

But that's not what harry was focusing on. Instead he was focusing on the not-so-vivid images that replayed in his head of what happened between him and Louis. Of course, in the house of some stranger, or Zayn, he wasn't really able to recalled anything that happened. However, days after, he was just reading his book, To Kill A Mockingbird (mind blowing at that), when these explicit images were shooting through his brain.

The way the study was barely lit when he was pushed against the wall, his head hitting a row of books when he was lifted from the ground. They tumbled to the ground before he could hold them up.

This was the start of the weird dreams. The dreams that left his skin pale with goosebumps, the feeling of calloused fingers against his soft, milky skin haunted him like a ghost.

But the ghost of what exactly?

When Harry thought they wouldn't get any worse, he was wrong. In his dreams, a voice accompanied him. A soft, but authorative one. It was raspy, no deeper than Harry's--lighter in fact--and full of lust and want, and Harry found himself desperate to know if there was anyone in the world that can be, or intimidate that voice.

It was singular words, the first night, but soon it became demands. Orders. And Harry found it so erotic.

Which is why he's in his bed now, hands unconsciously wrapped around his c0ck that hardening by the minute. His other hand was under the covers, fingertips probing the smooth ring of muscles, and clenching against his fingertips.

The voice from his dream was fresh in his mind, bossing him around, telling him what to do.

Hands and knees, love.

Without a second thought, Harry rolled around so that he was on his knees, bum stuck into the air. Harry stayed still in his subconscious state, his mind only wanting to listen to one voice.

So pretty, my love, so pretty. Such a good boy, aren't you?

"Yes," Harry sighed, squirming under the man's praise. It made him like he should strive to be a good boy, only for the voice.

Are you hurt love?

Harry faintly nodded, gulping down a string of pleads.

Where, sweetheart? Show Daddy where it hurts.

Harry's hand slips below his belly, and in between his legs. When his fingertip touches his clenching hole, he gasps.

"Right here, daddy." Harry sighs shakily, moving his finger around it.

Really? You wanna give yourself some relief, love?

Harry nodded enthusiastically.

Go ahead, touch yourself.

Whithout a second to spare, Harry let his finger slip past the ring of muscles. He gasped, letting himself himself adjust before going deeper. His continued to move his finger around, until suddenly it brushes over his sensitive spot, letting out a moan.

Keep going, love, you're doing so well.

Harry faintly nodded, and kept going, now curling his finger against that sweet spot, letting strangled moan escape his lips. Harry wanted to add another finger, wanting to add more pressure to that sweet spot, enough to send him over the edge. But he felt he should ask...