smut // multi-fandom

hands // harry styles

word count: 1.8K 

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I often found myself infatuated by Harry's hands.

I'd envision the feeling of his rough yet slender fingers inching down my skin, the immediate urge to beg for him to do as he pleased with my body, and giving him complete access to whatever he desired from me....

As the images rolled through my head, I noticed that I was merely staring at a photo that I had taken on my phone of us together - Harry's hands appearing large on the screen as I realized quite quickly that I had precisely zoomed into them. I had also found in that quick realization that my hand had made its way into my pants, my fingers grazing against my already swollen clit.

I had been daydreaming again.

I removed my hand quickly before taking in a short breath, hoping that no one else was around to witness my pathetic attempt at imagination. I didn't quite realize why I needed to think about him so much when he was already living not even two doors down from me. If I was able to muster up enough courage, I could go right up to him and tell him my needs, simple as that. However, it wasn't as simple as that because Harry and I were neighbors, nothing more, nothing less. Sure, we had hung out numerous because we were the only ones on this floor of the apartment complex around the same age, but beyond that, there was always something about him that forced me into an erotic trance each time we hung out. How could one possible take all that into consideration and still think it'd be easy to express buried desires. Yet, a part of me felt like he was almost doing this to me on purpose. Almost as if he knew exactly how to get me going. I mean, it wasn't a very off-putting assumption because he was a very flirtatious person when a conversation stuck him. 

I mean really, it wasn't like me, a good friend of his, could engage myself in conversation with him and then say, 'Hey Harry, I know we just becoming friends and all, but I'd really just like it if you wrapped your hands around my throat, thanks.' Like to flat out tell him that I developed a fetish for his hands...that'd be insane, right? RIGHT? 

The thought was interrupted by the sound of pounding on my front door. I looked over at the large clock mounted on the wall, noticing that it was nearly midnight. I furrowed my eyebrows together as I ran through the short list of people who would be coming around at this hour, and only coming to one logical conclusion. It was him, it had to be.  My heart began to race as I inched closer to the sound, hoping that my assumption was wrong -- that I was just being a paranoid mess who wasn't just thinking of him two minutes ago. Like how would I explain my weird behavior? 'Hey, I was just thinking of you fucking me and now you're here. So weird ha.'

I made my way towards the door before moving my head closer to the peephole and seeing that it was, in fact, Harry.

"Is he fucking psychic?" I asked myself, as I neared my hand to the doorknob. I opened it to reveal his tall figure; a sight that made my heart jump in place.

"Hello 406," he spoke up, his accent thickening between the words. "I was hoping that I could come hang with you, my plans were somewhat soiled."

Mentally, I could feel my mouth watering up at the sight of him with his messy hair and rings on his fingers, but physically, I didn't budge.

"Hello? Earth to 406, are you gonna let me in, you weirdo?" His words piped into my head, and I blinked rapidly, not knowing how to react.

"Uh, yeah. Come on in, but I do warn you, not much is going on here either." I laughed as he walked through my door, his scent brushing past my nose as he moved.  A hint of lavender and aftershave.