You Argue About Whether Hes A Dom Or A Sub, I Envision Sex Scenarios That Involve Him And That Allow

you argue about whether he’s a dom or a sub, I envision sex scenarios that involve him and that allow me to analyze and dissect the intricacies of his mind and the depths of his self hatred. we are not the same

fool’s gold

Summary: Harvey doesn’t make a habit of tending to himself… physically. Today proves to be the rare exception, much to his chagrin.

Word Count: 1.6k words.

Warnings: not much else, harvey gets off to the most pathetic thoughts that only make it that much more transparent how starved he is for love! it’s……. pretty sad actually.

a/n: yeah, I was having…. Thoughts. I have no defense for myself, just enjoy my horrifically depressing take on harvey masturbating!!!

——

Harvey is not one to indulge himself, really. Especially in matters such as this. These instances come few and far in between, only allowing himself to be rewarded when these desires run ragged and old, can be relished like a fine wine. He only allows himself frigid little sips, all too terrified for an indulgence to become a new, petrifying hobby. It's not healthy to spoil oneself with too much of a good thing.

All that is to say, Harvey does not make a habit of tending to himself... physically. Today proves to be the rare exception, much to his chagrin.

Yet Harvey stumbles into his apartment door all the same, despite his apparent ire, hurriedly locking the door and standing stiffly in place. There's a pit in his stomach, interwoven with it a prickly heat that leaves his body clammy and nerves spiraling, unsettled. He'd been innocently twitchy all day, but it'd become a familiar sort of ache by the time the clinic closed for the day, after a few hours of him working unperturbed. It makes him want to be hasty with this, as if god, and maybe even he himself, will forgive him as long as he's quick with it. As long as he hurries, before he wastes more time on this than is defensible.

Heedlessly, he unfurls his coat from his body and throws it to the table, next to his TV. His mind is so frazzled, mind caught in such a frenzy, that he only realizes he's walked to his bed when he plops down onto it, a shameful heat blooming in his cheeks. It blooms everywhere in discordant embers, in multiple parts of his body, all sensation narrowing to one specific place.

Futile debates are made in his head, his dignity fighting tooth and nail against the natural current of human instinct. There is no sign of waning in the water, only the current that ebbs away more and more at his restraint. Finally, he peeks down at his slacks, at the unmistakable curve that presses a subtle indent along the middle seam.

He fans his legs out tersely, swallowing hard as he raises a shaky hand to his face. He can feel how hot his face is when he sweeps his fingers over his cheeks, carefully pushing his glasses back. He breathes in and out, before undoing his tie, leaving it hanging around his neck as if branding himself with some scarlet letter of shame.

Harvey undoes the buttons of his white button-down as well, not wanting to get anything messier than it should be. And then, with a drawn out sigh, he unzips his fly. Hesitates a moment longer, then slides the hem of his boxers over his... dick. Humiliatingly, the slightest friction provided by the fabric sliding down the underside of it makes his hips lurch up, a sound clogging his throat.

He has to take a moment to sigh disbelievingly at himself, then another to belatedly reach for the lube in his nightstand. There's a procedure to this, a fine tightrope to balance on, teetering between thinking about this too much and too little. He thinks too much when pouring the lube over his hand, dousing his fingers and palm, too little when he hovers said hand lower.

Another wave of emotion runs through him, another anxiety gnaws gracelessly at the precipice of his thoughts, but his hand doesn't slow any longer. Harvey exhales sharply through his nose when his fingers so much as make contact with the head, inhales shakily when he forms a firm fist around his dick. An idle thought stirs in him all the while, when was the last time I did this? and then a later, embarrassed I really should be working.

All of those thoughts flatten away to nothing as that traitorous desire rears its ugly, tantalizing head— his mind all too eager to egg on that soft-spoken part of himself that longed so badly for a warmer bed. He tries so hard to bury these thoughts in material sturdier than dirt, in cement— but his desires are alive just as much as he is. It brims under his skin, flows downwards as he moves his hand in a steady stroke. The root of it all stems from inside his very soul, an impossible want steering his every action.

He keeps his hand slow and lax, tries to imagine it's someone else touching him so gently. Shame tries to cloud his head, but it's quickly cleared by the thought of a kiss, languid but addled with simmering passion. His mind works in a such a disorganized way, having the audacity to touch himself in this way and think of something so quaint. Something, though he pushes it back futilely, he isn't so sure he's earned. Even the mere concepts running wild in his head are undeserved, a tenderness not befitting of a man such as—

He sucks in a harsh breath, imagining warm caresses over his cheeks, in his hair. Kisses so soft that they graze over his skin like butterfly wings. This won't happen, but his mind is versatile, desperate really— he can pretend. He thinks of the most gentle of neck kisses, of honeyed whispers that he feels more than he hears. Whispers that sink into him so smoothly, disarm him and pry him open, Harvey all too wanting.

He doesn’t fear this vulnerability, this momentary emptiness is as much him as is the fullness he feels the moment the light is invited in. This touch is a sun, tender and encouraging. He glows under it, never burning, and his gratitude cannot be understated. He thinks of someone breathing out how wonderful they think he is, tone so adoring and so heartbreakingly sincere that his hips buck up frantically.

There's another earnest whisper in his ear, telling him how good he's doing as a thumb swipes around the head of his erection, drawing an abruptly startled whine from his parted lips. That brings him back to reality a bit, makes him realize how shallow his breathing has gotten. The movements of his hand don't slow any, his breath stuttering. He usually manages to stay quiet enough, even his slip-up now had been relatively silent, but he makes a decision to bring his hand up to his mouth. It's better to be safe than sorry.

Harvey claws back at the fantasy that had started to unravel, mind working to find new threads to weave into it. A few more kisses over his chest, maybe, a bit firmer but ultimately delicate, like that of a paintbrush. The ticklish sensation of nails sweeping over his sides, then against his cheek as it's cupped. Soothing circles rubbed into his cheekbone, right as the narrow slit of his dick is teased gingerly. He thanks himself for taking such precautions as he muffles another soft sound into his palm.

Lips are back around his jaw now, and he surprises himself with a faint nip, a strange warmth filling him as he imagines an airy little laugh. Almost an apology, as their hand starts to pump him faster, which has Harvey tensing and leaning against his bed until his back is flat against the mattress. His breathing is labored, his heart swelling with something so light yet so heavy.

Kisses are trailed up to his ear, lips tickling his earlobe. "You're okay, Harvey, I got you." His breath hitches so hard it hurts his throat. The hand speeds up, and it plucks a full-body shudder from him. He can't take much more, his body is too weak. Too needy. It's been too long, and everything is too wonderfully warm. He feels safe, and the trust flows easier than the lust does.

"I love you so much, honey. So much." Harvey gasps, eyes flying open. He can't remember when he squeezed them closed so tight, but even the muted shade of his ceiling is so bright in the wake of it. His hips cant up with singleminded focus.

He swears he can hear a nervous swallow. "… I love you." The voice is so soft then, velvety but not sultry. Barely louder than a breath. It's said as though they'll cry from it, from how much love burdens their heart. All for him, all expressed in these tender touches.

The whine he lets out then is choppy as he finally comes. His eyes flutter back shut, pressing his hand hard against his mouth, eyes burning with unshed tears as he desperately pumps himself through it. Harvey is huffing into his palm, eyes fluttering back open and closed in varying intervals. It takes little more time for his body to go slack, resting his trembling hand against his stomach.

Harvey stares at the ceiling until the color dulls, until the warmth of the moment is robbed from him. There's no one here to kiss him afterwards, to smile so fondly that they barely can press their lips to his successfully. He can't bashfully try to wave off a lover as they tend to him, as they scoff lightheartedly and wipe his stomach with a washcloth despite his protests. I love you, they'd say, I want to. And then the unspoken words that would shine in their warm eyes, continuing to clean him up. Words that wouldn’t stagnant in their polish when they tugged him forwards, held him so close in a way he's only dreamed of; You deserve this.

Harvey leans his back further, blinking rapidly as the natural temperature of his apartment cools his body down. His eyes burn again, breathing picking up again.

He doesn't need this, he reminds himself, he lives a life few are lucky enough to get.

He... should get back to work.

Credits : 04513114 (on Pinterest)

I love how you draw harvey so much I’m going to throw up and die I think

Harvey / (Cringefail) Farmer pt. 54

psa to wear sunscreen. harvey WILL cry

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hes so girl failure coded 💕