It's nearing two in the morning when Harry gives up on the idea of sleep.
He had more reason than not to crash on his bed the minute he returned to his hotel room that night due to his busy day from a photo shoot in the morning to interviews and meetings all afternoon and the party event he had to attend that evening. Yet despite his tired body, still jet lagged from his flight the day before, practically begging him to rest, his mind is wide awake. He cannot sleep no matter how hard he tries. Not even the short break he took outside on the balcony, breathing in the fresh air of the night, could help, nor the hot tea he brewed to calm his nerves. By the time he gives up on all prospect of sleep, he's certain he's spent at least two hours tossing and turning.
He's not usually like this. He's spent his fair share in hotel rooms and tight tour bus bunk beds to have his body grow accustomed to the feeling of awkward spaces and scratchy sheets and unfamiliar, foreign walls. He had often prided himself on his ability to sleep nearly anywhere, in any part of the world. So what was bothering him that night? Perhaps it is because his mind is still buzzing, intoxicated from the one too many beers he had that night. Warming his system and sending alerts to his brain to keep him up. It almost makes him regret not going out with his friends to some bar after the party because at least then he would have been occupied, but he had been so certain three hours earlier that he was tired. Maybe it is because he can hear faint chattering voices from a few rooms down and the soft blast of music from an unsolicited party in the hotel.
No. No, it isn't any of that, and he knows that for a fact because he doesn't really need to think long and hard about it when he misses her. It's as simple as that. He misses Y/N. But like the unfamiliar hotels and the busy schedule, he should have been used to being so far away from her. He had only been away from her for a day but he had gone even longer than that before without missing her so terribly. He tells himself he'll be with her again in just two more days, but it doesn't seem to work. He misses her in every way possible. He misses the sugary scent of her perfume, always enveloping him in a warm hug; he misses the familiar heat of her body next to him at night, the way she curls up into to him, her head nuzzled against his side, misses the way she usually runs her fingers through his hair and down his arms and traces his tattoos; he misses kissing her, from the deep, yearning kisses to the sweet little pecks that make her giggle. God, he just misses her and it doesn't help that during those two hours he spent tossing and turning, when he could have already been asleep, his mind had been filled with her.
Yet, the more time passed and the more desperate he became to fall asleep, the faster he learned in just what particular way he missed her. He can feel it growing in intensity with each second, the way it burns in the pit of his stomach and has his head spinning. And the moment he lets himself become aware of his neediness, his thoughts are invaded with such tragically tempting memories of her. The way her teeth gnaw on her pouty lower lip, her eyes wide as they watch and anticipate his every move. The swell of her bare breasts and the way they feel beneath his hands, soft and warm. Her pretty thighs shaking, quivering, with pleasure, daring to squeeze shut to hide her leaking arousal. The way she feels wrapped around his cock-
He feels like he's going to explode. Now he realizes that his inability to fall asleep is due to the fact that he's antsy. Maybe he shouldn't have had that extra beer. Maybe it's what pushed him over the edge. But now he's here, wide awake and helplessly hard, growing with each second. Suddenly his joggers feel tight and constricting around his length and he reaches down to palm himself through the material. The pressure doesn't do much to help him, though. He already knows he won't be content unless he has her there. Unless he has her help him. He could call her but it's too late for that. She definitely wouldn't be awake now, and it's not as if he'd want to be the reason to wake her up at this hour. But, God, he really did need help.
With an idea popping into his mind, he hurriedly reaches for his phone on the bedside table and nearly knocks over the lamp in the process. His phone unlocks with a swipe of his finger and then, tapping at a few icons, he enters his photo album and scrolls past a blur of other pictures before coming across the one he had been looking for. That one. The one he had snapped of her one night when they were maybe a little tipsy and certainly drunk off of each other. It's dark and a bit blurry but the overall picture is still very clear. They're in the living room, seated on the couch. She's straddling his hips, in the midst of riding his cock, his length visible just slightly and part of it still inside her. He remembers how desperate she had been to get off in that moment, how recklessly she had been fucking herself on him. And he had sat back, solely so he could bask in the feeling and her own eagerness. The only upsetting part about the picture was that he hadn't gotten her face in it, as per her request (just in case it had gotten in the wrong hands, she had said), but he could still remember it. Her eyes screwed shut, face scrunched up in concentration, his name rolling off the tip of her tongue.
He scrolls up a little further, past a few more random pictures, before settling on another that he knew would be buried deep within there. This one is just as perfect, taken on an entirely different day. It's in their room, on top of their bed. It's a bit lighter this time, golden light seeping in past the window and illuminating her body. It's just of her, sprawled out before him. Her face is still cropped out but he's captured the way her thighs are still spread apart, the way her core still glistens. His own cum paints her stomach, marking her his in pearly white patterns. He had remembered thinking how pretty she had looked being so wrecked that he couldn't help himself and snapped the photo just to let the moment live a little longer.
He's impossibly hard now. In fact, it almost hurts. And the pictures, however nice they are, hardly do justice. He still needs her. Needs to hear her at the very least. He can't resist himself. He'll give her a ring, just one call, and if she does not answer than he swears he will deal with his problem on his own. He just had to give it a chance. Just once.
His hands are practically sweating when he swipes for her contact name, and he feels his erratic pulse calm just fleetingly when he spots the contact picture of her - such an innocent and pure photo compared to the ones he had been looking at, a silly selfie she had taken on his phone when he wasn't looking that she had immediately regretted and asked him to delete but that he had held so dearly to his heart. The line rings once, twice. Three times. He lets it ring for a bit longer than necessary, hoping and wishing to hear her voice, willing it into existence. Just as he is about to give up, and feeling bad about being a little greedy, he is met with the sound of her quiet voice. A careful whisper in his ear.
"Harry?"
He lets a very audible sigh of relief slip past his lips. Then, he grimaces, feeling a tad bit sheepish for clearly waking her up. "Sorry," he apologizes. "Were y'asleep?"
"Mmhm," she mumbles. He can imagine her curled up beneath their comforter, maybe even sleeping on his side of the bed like he knows she does when he's away.
"Sorry, love," he says again. "Shouldn't have called. Need your rest."
"It's okay," she yawns. "What's wrong? Why aren't you asleep?"
"I just-" he pauses. He rubs a hand over his weary face. "M'just missing you. A lot."
"You've only been gone for a day, babe," she giggles tiredly. "I miss you too but you'll be back soon."
"Yeah, but... Just really miss yeh." His throat is dry, and he's finding it increasingly hard to put his thoughts into words. He gulps. "Can't stop thinking 'bout you. S'driving me insane. M'so hard, pet. Need you so bad."
"Oh."
The word leaves her in a soft exhalation of breath. If she had been asleep moments ago, she's definitely wide awake now. He can hear the bed sheets rustling on her end of the call in a short pause before she responds.
"You poor thing," she snickers. He's much too overwhelmed to care much about her teasing. He waits with bated breath for her answer. "How can I help you, baby?"
"Just... Stay on the phone," he rasps. He's startled to hear how much his voice sounds like an anxious plea. "Talk t'me. Lemme hear you."
"Okay," she says. "Okay. Just tell me what you want me to do. I'm all ears."
He suddenly feels rejuvenated, bristling with eager excitement. He's clutching his phone so tightly, rings digging harshly into his fingers.
"Y'still in bed?"
"Yes," she says. "Was sleeping on your side. The sheets smell like you. It helps me sleep."
There it is again, another soothing wave to dull the burning sensation in his stomach. He shuts his eyes, trying to imagine her all the way in their home. "Were y'missing me too?"
He means this, of course, in a more intimate manner. He knows she catches onto it quickly when he hears her admit, "Yes. I was- I was dreaming about you. Before you called. That's why I was kinda surprised to see it was you."
His ears perk at the mention of this. He shifts in his spot, props himself up against the pillows of the bed. "S'that so? What about, pet? Filthy things?"
"Mhm," she hums, sounding a little shy. "Do you wanna know?"
"Enlighten me, please."
She takes a deep breath, the sound sending shivers down his spine. "You were here with me. Had me feeling so nice, Harry."
"How?" The word is a little choked, but he doesn't care. He's teetering with anticipation. Impatience.
"Your mouth," she whispers. "Between my thighs. Eating me out so well."
Even though he had sensed where the conversation was going, to hear her say it aloud practically startled him. His cock twitches against his thigh and he lets out a hiss of air between his teeth. His hand is over his length again within an instance, rubbing himself harshly.
"Why couldn't you sleep?" she asks. "What got you this way?"
He takes a moment to collect himself. Then, he answers. "Was just thinkin' about you. Then started lookin' at those pictures of you. Y'know the ones."
"I do." There's a tiny, devious smirk in her voice.
"Tell me," he gasps. "T-Tell me. What are y'wearing right now?"
She takes a moment to respond. When he realizes this, his curiosity peaks and mingles with his interest. "Well, I- I fell asleep in just my underwear. Was too hot for a shirt and sweats. And-And I'm alone so I thought I'd just go-"
"Naked," he finishes for her. He licks at his lips. "Can y'show me?"
She hums her agreement. He sits in a silence as she pulls the phone away from her ear. There's some more rustling of sheets, and then he feels his phone vibrate in his hand. He's shaking when he checks his phone, fingers wavering as he swipes for her new message. One lone picture. It seems so lewd to have it sent right after her last text to him just before he had slipped off to bed, saying goodnight to her, and her responding with the same and a plethora of sparkling heart emojis. But the picture. Oh, the picture. Nothing could have prepared him for it.
She doesn't lie. She is still in their bed on his side like he had thought and she is, for the better part, completely nude. She's taken the picture at an angle that displays her whole body in the darkness, only illuminated by the flash of the camera light. She's resting on her back, chest just slightly arched, just for him. Her breasts look so soft, catch his eyes first. One of her hands is grasping at one of her breasts, just a sadistic touch to the picture to make him suffer even more. He catches sight of her cotton panties, plain black and resting high on her hips. The blankets are pushed down to her thighs and that is all he can see for her legs. He groans aloud, grasps himself a little tighter through his trousers.
"Oh, pet," he grunts. "Y'look so pretty. So unfair. Wish I was there with you right now."
"Wish you were here too," she whispers.
"Can you-" he pauses. "Can y'do something for me? Can you touch yourself for me?"
"Touch myself where?"
He shuts his eyes again, lets himself picture her in every way he's about to say. "Want you to lay back on the bed. Stay on my side."
"Okay."
"Want y'to take those pretty panties off. Want y'to spread your legs for me. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes."
He hears more rustling and tries to think back to every other time he's seen her spread out for him, smooth expanse of her legs travelling up, up, up to her core.
"Y'good?"
"Good," she says.
"Okay." He takes a deep breath. "Okay, now touch yourself for me. Slowly. Pretend s'me. Start at your throat... Your chest... Down between your legs. Tell me what y'like most when I touch you like that."
She hums as she does as she's told. He imagines her eyes screwed shut, her head thrown back just slightly, hands wandering her body.
"Like how big your hands are on me," she whispers. "How rough they feel. Y-Your rings. Like them when they're digging into me when you've got your hand wrapped around my throat. Like how warm they feel when you touch me between my thighs."
He grinds his own cock against his palm, running his thumb over the head as he listens to her.
"Touch yourself there," he rasps. "Between your legs, where y'want me."
He can hear her own breath hitch in her throat and then she gulps.
"Talk t'me," he murmurs. "Whatcha feel like, pet?"
"Soft, warm," she breathes. "Wet. So wet, Harry. Could take you so nicely right now. Fuck, I want you here."
He bites down a little too harshly on his lower lip when he hears her whimper. His hips buck into his palm and he's certain he can feel sticky precum soaking through the material of his sweats. He's never been like this before without her around. He gasps for air, tries not to stutter over his words. His voice is raspy and low when he does, a deep rumble that shakes her to the core.
"I know, baby," he says. "Gonna make y'feel good still. Just keep listenin' to my voice. Want you to keep touching yourself. Run your fingers over yourself. Your clit. Slowly, yeah?"
She hums in response and he pictures her doing as she's told. Nimble fingers swiping at her clit, running her wetness along her folds and down. He hastily pushes his joggers and boxers down his thighs, wraps his fist firmly around his throbbing cock. He's so hard and red, the prominent vein on his length bulging and the tip looking as if it were going to burst. He runs his thumb over the top, pumps his shaft carefully. She moans softly into his ear, chills running down his spine.
"Whatcha doing, pet?" he asks. "Thinking? Tell me."
"Touching myself like you said," she croaks. "Thinking about you touching me like this. Thinking about you. Thinking about touching you too and your cock. How hard you get when I touch you."
"Always so good t'me," he grunts. "Your mouth's always so pretty wrapped around me. 'Nd my cum on your lips. Can be so filthy, pet."
"Wish I could taste you," she sighs. "Would suck you off all nice and slow till you're pulling at my hair."
"Y'like when I pull at your hair?"
"Yes."
"Would y'let me fuck your mouth if I was there?" he asks. "Y'like when I do that too, don't you, you dirty girl?"
"Y-Yes."
His grip tightens on his length. He can feel that familiar knot raveling in the pit of his stomach, can feel his head burning and spinning. He jacks himself off languidly, entranced by her every word.
"Need you to finger yourself for me," he says. "Y'can do that for me, right? Real slow. Let you feel yourself stretchin' open. Pretend it's still me. My fingers deep inside of you, my rings against you."
He tries to remember what she feels like, just how warm and wet she really is when he's fingering her. She always feels so nice and soft, takes his fingers so well. He hates that she's all alone, but loves the image of it. Her back arching off the bed, her legs already trembling. She's laying naked on his side of the bed, hand shamelessly dipping below her waist and her other hand grasping at her breasts. He pumps himself a little faster, jaw clenching. There's a moment of sharp panting, their moans filling the silence.
"Y'like when my cock's inside you, huh?" he rasps. "Like when I fuck you hard?"
"I- I like- Oh, Harry," she whines. "Wish you were here, baby. I need you. Nothing feels as good as you. I like when you fuck me till I can't walk. Ah- And when- When you're filling me up so nicely."
He growls, a guttural noise that's full of desperation. His hand is starting to hurt but he's so close now. "You gonna cum for me, poppet? Y'close?"
"Mhm," she mewls.
"Y'like when I cum all over you?" he asks. "Make such a mess but y'look so nice covered in my cum. All pretty. All mine."
"Like it- Like it even more when y-you fill me up," she says. "When you wreck me and I'm dripping with your cum and-"
Her voice is cut off by a sharp moan as she's pushed over the edge. She announces the rapid approach of her high with a faint, "I'm gonna- I'm-" before she cries out his name. He thinks of her all alone in their room, body writhing and twisting and turning as she releases all over her hands and on their bed and he despises that he can't be there to lick her clean. It doesn't matter though. Hearing her get off is just what he needs. The final straw to make him reach his own high. He rubs himself faster, recklessly, shamelessly, grunting and groaning and almost dropping his phone.
When he cums moments later, it's perhaps one of the most satisfying feelings he's endured in so long. Especially for that night, with all that tension finally bursting. He cums fast and sloppily, a sticky mess all over his hands and waist and clothes but it feels so damn good. He pumps himself a few more times after that to ride out his high and then he slumps against the bed, sufficiently exhausted. A peaceful quiet settles between the two, despite their uneven breathing as they try to relax. Then, she's giggling breathlessly.
"Wow," she muses. "Harry?"
"Yes, love?"
"Feeling better?"
He can't help but smile. "M'feeling better. Just missing you even more now."
"I'm missing you like mad too," she sighs. "Hurry home, won't you?"
His heart swells. His phone is practically burning in his hands but he refuses to hang up now. Her words are like sweet honey, dulcet as they wash over him and soothe him even further after such a high. "I'll try. Can't wait t'feel you in my arms again. Gonna kiss you all over too till y'get sick of me."
"I could never." There's a smile in her voice that makes him mirror it. She stifles a yawn. "Stay on the phone with me?"
"'Course, darling," he says. "Gonna stay till you fall asleep."
And he does. They'll each clean up their mess and change into new clothes before returning to their beds, wrapped up in their sheets and the warmth of each other despite being miles away. They talk in low murmurs occasionally for a bit, snickering tiredly to one another. She falls asleep first just like she usually does, but not before she murmurs a faint, "Sweet dreams, Harry." He follows shortly after, sleep finally catching up to him, listening to the sound of her deep breathing, and slips off into a peaceful slumber where he dreams only of her.