death spells ☤ (larry stylinson) [ON HIATUS]

two

fuck. oh fuck.

harry flung his head back in pleasure, allowing it to hit the armrest of his sofa, he could bare the slight sting that came with it. he barely found time to himself anymore, so as immature as it may seem, the time he did get to have to himself was spent with his hand wrapped around his own cock.

groaning, he let go of his dick as the familiar metallic clanging of the letterbox told him that somebody was most likely at the door.

he got up off his sofa, clothing himself before heading towards the impatient person.

the few steps to the door always felt like forever, mainly so now as harry's skinny jeans trapped his erect skin.

"are you fucking kidding me?" he groaned again, as he looked down the hallway into the slightly see-through glass of his front door to realise it was not a human, just the postman, doing his rounds.

and sure the postman had feelings too and was pretty much just as human as harry. but come on, who delivered mail on christmas?

but then again, he guessed the same question could be asked for wanking. only harry and the postman.

he accepted the parcel that the man was holding before slamming the door shut. not in a rude way, more in a "i'm sorry but it's really fucking cold so would you mind getting the fuck off my property." kind of way.

harry wasn't an asshole, he just didn't enjoy communicating as much as the next person and held a very thin patience for people in general.

"merry christmas." harry mumbled to himself before rolling his eyes and deciding that maybe he should at least have breakfast.

usually his family would be here but they couldn't get to manchester this year due to the heavy snow back home causing them to not be able to safely drive up there but honestly, he definitely wasn't complaining. sure he loved them, but it was mainly due to the fact that they were really bloody annoying that harry couldn't stand their company for more than half an hour.

well that and the fact that they do the same thing all the time. they come over, ask about his love life, grimace slightly when he mentions a man, take his song book and read out the lyrics without permission and oh, of course. laugh about the fact that art is bullshit to them.

art wasn't bullshit, it was the easiest or hardest thing in the world to crack, it was either you got it or didn't. and they certainly didn't.

uncultured swines.

he couldn't stop them from coming down on new years though. harry really wasn't all that fond of his mothers new squeeze, robin or kevin or whatever his name was. either way he was a right prick to harry, and the worst part was, his mum was completely oblivious to everything and harry wondered at that moment if the guy could pull out a knife and stab harry and whether or not his mum would even bat an eyelid.

probably not.

okay maybe a little bit of an exaggeration, harry loved his family, he really did, but sometimes they were a bit much.

taking a detour from the kitchen to the living room, where all his art stuff was set up, harry opened the package knowing instantly what it was.

christmas came right on time for him. harry sighed contently, watercolours and a new notebook. he was thankful, for himself, of course. after all, nobody else was buying him gifts.

the notebook was for the more musical side of his artwork. harry was a man of many talents but one that could never brag.

who was he kidding, he bragged all the fucking time.