Distractions, Dirty Showers, Decisions

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We all have different ways of pleasuring ourselves. We each have our particular quirks and kinks and things we enjoy and for the most part, Harry goes right into it and doesn't play around too much. He gets horny and jerks off, no frills, done. Usually in his bed right before he falls asleep or in the shower upon waking. But every once in awhile he takes his time, experiments, revisits some rarely-explored territory.

He's in a mood today; he cleaned his apartment a bit, washed all of his dishes, swept the floor, lit candles in every single room. There are around six or seven candles in the bathroom, all scented, some of them woody and some citrus.

He's pacing across the cold white tile watching his feet, the shower is running and steam is filling the small room, condensation building on the mirror and muddying Harry's reflection. He swipes his hand across the glass and looks at his eyes, his hair, his shoulders, the tattoos sunken into his collarbones.

His cock has been semi-hard for hours and he's not exactly sure why. He's not contemplating about anything notable and he can't pluck a single thought out of his web of lucidity. He jerked off before he fell asleep last night, right after you finished your movie together and you kissed his cheek and the corner of his mouth where his lips disappear into his beauty mark.

He woke up and shook the fog of his dream, jerked off, ate breakfast of avocado and eggs, went to work and gently healed children, came home and jerked off, cleaned his apartment, jerked off before dinner, lit some candles and now here he is: staring at his reflection in the mirror and asking himself to clear his agitated head.

He considers doing some push-ups and sit-ups but then decides that maybe a more well thought-out masturbation session first followed by calisthenics and some painting will bring whatever hidden impending needs he has to the forefront of his mind.

He looks down at his torso and his groin; he's shirtless, just black boxer briefs hugging his painfully tight cock. His tip is pushing up against the elastic and he groans and flicks the lights off so that the bathroom is bathed in the golden glow of several small twinkling flames. He can imagine how red the tip must be, swollen and leaking into the material of his undergarments while his fists curl at his sides.

He lets his eyes drift shut as he pulls his briefs down and hooks them under his balls; he's sighing in relief at the freedom but also the bittersweet sensation of the elastic digging into his package and pushing his cock up to his stomach, aligning perfectly with his happy trail and pointing towards his quivering belly button.

He can't believe he's still hard after every time he'd touched himself today and he'd give anything for someone to lick him to his end. He's falling into the cushy spot in his brain that he's so used to accessing, imagining a random guy from the club a few weeks ago; his soft skin, his muscular back, his long fingers, your short black dress riding up your thighs, his- what the fuck? Harry's eyes fly open and he shakes his head violently, his hair swinging back and forth with the motion.

His usual routine of fantastical thoughts keep flashing bits and pieces of you intermittently and he knows that you're beautiful and that he loves you and your delicious curves, your soft breasts, your shiny hair - but he's never thought about you like this with his cock hard against his stomach and it's making his balls tighten painfully between his thighs. He should probably feel guilty or ashamed for using you this way but he's too curious to stop his train of thought now.

He groans out loud and kicks his briefs off before stepping into the shower and hissing at the sting of the hot water. His head is leaning forward, water cascading through his hair and streaming in small streaks off of his jaw, lips and neck; raining down his shoulders and his back.

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