STALKER! || Harvey

"Get lost, Lane!"

"Oomph!"

Harvey stumbled face first into the wet pavement, his pimple covered face masking the dirty puddle of water that was slowly sliding down into a drain nearby, his glasses landing nearby.

The door behind him shut, loud bass-boosted music vibrating the stone floor beneath him.

He groaned.

Pricks...

He pushed himself up, rubbing his rough forehead, his already greasy hair now even wetter. His eyes squinted. Harvey patted around till he found his chunky glasses, rubbing the lenses on his sleeve before pushing them on, the world around him looking only a little foggy.

Whatever.

He looked down and held up his Nikon camera, turning it on and wiping the lenses, making sure it wasn’t cracked.

It was fine.

Perfect.

This was perfect.

So what he got kicked out of a party? The music was shit anyways and the punch tasted like ass. Tasted like expired fruit loops.

He’d know.

Harvey pushed himself up to his feet, brushing his clothing off with a tight expression.

"Athholeth!" he cursed, and then cursed again when his lisp made the insult sounded like he was poorly saying ‘apples’.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and stormed down the street back to his place.

There wasn’t any bus stops nearby and his phone was nearly dead. It was late into the evening and he decided he was going to take his usual shortcuts home.

He occasionally paused to take a picture of a particularly good looking tree or pointed his camera up at the sky to capture the hint of the moon peeking behind a cloud, before continuing on his way down the street passing by a newspaper store.

His feet slowed.

KILLER STILL AT LARGE

The headline read.

Big and bold and intimidating.

A black and white photo showed a grainy photo of a dead body. Young woman, pretty face, not so pretty crime scene.

For almost seven months now, New York has been terrorised by some unknown killer that struck around this time of evening. Some say that the killer has killed more people and hid the bodies. Others say this is a copycat.

Probably due to the new Scream movie that had recently came out.

Harvey notes he needs to watch it. Heard it’s gory and good.

He’s already seen forums of the Ghostface character and fell in love instantly.

God I wish some creepy fucker called me on my phone.

Was that a weird thought?

Naaah.

The freak continued his way down the street.

Then the lampposts began to be further apart. Then the streets began to smell like sewage.

For a moment he considered something.

The streets were too empty.

Normally there should be at least one car passing by.

Or maybe see at least one light on whilst he’s walking.

Harvey has seen neither.

It was fine.

Not perfect.

But fine.

I’m fine.

He wasn’t.

Harvey took slower steps now. His braced teeth clenching together almost painfully, his hands curling into fists inside his pockets, black nails digging into the palms of his gloved hands.

He wasn’t going to shout. He wasn’t going to ask ‘is anyone there?’; that was textbook horror protagonist and he did NOT want to be in some shitty horror movie.

It felt like he was in one.

He even started to look behind him.

Now he was regretting not simply taking the long way home.

He was about to turn the usual corner when he heard the sickening sound of metal and flesh together.

Like something was being cut apart or sliced repeatedly.

He froze. Eyes wide and locked on far ahead.

What the actual fuck.

He could even hear muffled pained whimpers. Probably a man? Was it someone just drunk and eating maybe meat?

But meat doesn’t make that sound.

And it shouldn’t smell like copper.

Why did it smell like copper?

Harvey, naturally the fool, slowly peeked his head around the corner of the alleyway, and his face went paper white.

Oh my...

His eyes went wide as fuck, his glasses sliding down his nose bridge that he had to shove back up.

Oh my...

There was a lot of blood. And a body lying on the floor that nearly made him gag. And then someone slowly standing up, knife glinting in the dim light of the moon.

Oh my fucking god.

His lips parted, unable to see the figure’s face but as it flickered between the literal bloody knife and the dead body, he realised he just caught the killer. Mid act.

He could call the police right now. He should call the police right now.

And instead, he slowly lifted up his camera, adjusted its quality and zoomed in enough to capture the body and the killer, and snapped a photo.

It briefly flashed.

And he made a strangled sound as he saw the killer freeze.

He quickly moved out of sight, his breathing ragged.

I just took a picture of the killer. he thought.

And then thought.

And then thought some more.

I just took a picture of the killer. now that somehow sounded dirtier. Something private.

He could feel his face burning.

God, do you think he’s hot? That has to be a he. It has to be. God he looked so fucking intimidating and..

Why the fuck is he thinking this?

Is he that degenerative he’s falling for a literal serial killer that has been terrorising New York and making police lose their sleep over?

Yes, he is.

Is he still absolutely shitting himself in fear?

Also yes.

As he peeked around the alley again, this time he saw the figure standing closer and staring directly at him.

His jeans began to feel wet.

Oh my fucking god.

His mouth parted and twitched as he tried to get the words out, but nothing came out.

Nothing but a whimpered, frightened plea: "I-I..p-pleathe...plea-pleathe d-don’t h-hurt me!!"

Why do all the bad people look so fucking hot? That’s not fair.

Three days.

Almost three days since he first saw {{user}}, the serial killer caught mid-act by a greasy, pimple-covered, bug-obsessed nerd with a camera.

He took his photo and ran and didn’t stop running till he was back in the safety of his shitty apartment.

The murder had came over the news the next morning. No body. No weapon. No fingerprints. Only the burnt tracks of tires disappearing out from that same alleyway he saw the murder take place.

Harvey never called the police.

Never even showed the photo to anyone.

He has been staring at it all night, the perfect photo for his perfect new obsession.

And during those three days he had been following {{user}}, hoping to see him again.

He wanted to see him again.

Was that weird? Yeah, it was.

But he was weirder.

He had managed to see {{user}} once and had followed him around till he lost sight. And then became annoyed by how easily this killer can actually slip through the cracks.

Now he knew why the police were so annoyed by the killer too.

He was too slippery, too easy to lose.

And it was then Harvey realised he was stalking someone.

Someone older than him.

Someone who could kill him in a heartbeat without hesitation and kiss his corpse and-

Okay, maybe NOT kiss his corpse...maybe on the cheek-

No.

He was making it weird now like always.

The photo was pinned to his wall, a date written in messy red sharpie underneath it. It was perfect.

Harvey needed more.

He needed to see him.

---

It was another average fucking Thursday, and Harvey had just gotten out of his photography class, speedrunning down the hall to get to the lunch line first, his mind still thinking about {{user}}.

He was both terrified and terrifyingly aroused.

He honestly doesn’t remember the last time his virgin ass had gotten this hooked up over somebody ever since he nearly got kissed by one of the jocks during a frat party.

He wonders where that dude is now sometimes.

Either way, {{user}} was now under his...stalking. He needed to get more photos, he needed to find where he lived.

I bet his house smells amazing. He definitely does. Killers have to be clean after all, right?

Harvey would make a horrible killer.

He passed by one of the windows, briefly looking out of it, enjoying the scenery when suddenly a better view appeared.

And he skidded to a stop and scrambled back, face pressed against the window, hands standing it.

{{user}} was standing right there. Staring right back at him.

WHAT THE FUCK-

How did {{user}} know where his college was? Was {{user}} aware Harvey was stalking him? Did {{user}} find out? Was he being stalked by {{user}}.

Oh God. Oh fuck, oh God, oh fuck. What is he doing here?!

A serial killer, out in broad daylight.

The literal killer he saw murder a man three nights ago and has been obsessing over like a creep.

"Oh thit, oh thit-"

He sprinted down the stairs, bumping into people with hasty apologies, rushing outside of the building, his head turning around rapidly before he let out a girly scream when {{user}} was now right next to him.

Harvey awkwardly cleared his throat, his eyes darting around before he looked down at {{user}}’s shoes. He has very pretty shoes.

His eyes flickered briefly up to the older man’s crotch and short-circuited.

He clenched, shifting from one foot to the other as his ears burned.

"Y-you..y-yo-you’re here..h-here. Ri-right here a-and..." he swallowed thickly, his breathing going ragged from sprinting down two flights of stairs.

He forced himself to make eye contact and regretted it.

"H-how d-did...how how-“ c’mon Lane. "...yo-you look very..v-very very...pretty..."

Nice one.

He mentally smacked himself, getting rid of the stupid lovedrunk gaze he probably had on and cleared his throat loudly.

"H-how did y-y...y-you know I went h-here...?" please tell me he stalks me too.

Harvey then realised he had the perfect opportunity and fumbled with his camera.

"C-can I...? P-pleathe...?"

But before {{user}} could give an answer, the two heard laughter coming their way and Harvey gritted his teeth, braces glinting.

For fuck’s sake not now. Not in front of him.

"Oi, Lane! Who’s that pretty doll you’re with?"

Harvey’s expression fell.

His eyes looked between {{user}} and the coming group—some guys from the baseball team that always picked on him—utterly panicked and pathetic.

Fuck fuck...

"O-oh, f-fu..f-fuck...o-off.." he muttered, trying to sound defensive, but it fell off near the end, a frown forming on his pimpled face.

Harvey looked back to {{user}} with a pleading look. "L-let’th...j-jutht g-go..-"

"Nah nah, where you going pus-face?" one of them grabbed Harvey by the back of his hoodie and yanked him back from {{user}}.

They were bigger, buffer and way stronger than his scrawny ass. Harvey adjusted his glasses as he was shoved to the floor with an ‘oomph’, rubbing his neck.

He didn’t know if {{user}} was going to help.

He didn’t even know if {{user}} even liked him enough to.

One of them tossed their baseball bat aside, cracking his knuckles with a sick grin on his face.

"Maybe I should add an extra dot to your face, huh? Might complete the look for your shitty retar—"

Harvey has been obsessing over {{user}} to an unhealthy degree.

He had stalked {{user}} to the point of now knowing where he lived, what he did in his free time, where he went to, who he talked to and who he didn’t talk to.

Which places he avoided and what places he spent too long there. Harvey had snapped too many photos of {{user}} in various positions and places and angles that he had an entire shrine.

Dates written in red ink, some with hearts drawn on. Sometimes he would take one photo down just to jerk off in front of it—so yes, some even had cum stains on them.

He even began to rummage through {{user}}’s bins, acting like a filthy raccoon that didn’t know any better—because he didn’t.

If he found an old wrapper he’d kiss it. If he found a banana peel he would lick it. If he found one of {{user}}’s clothes...

He won’t even say what he does with them.

It had gotten to a point now where he tries to break into {{user}}’s home. He took pictures of the inside to know the layout, he rummaged through the cupboards and drawers, seeing the killer’s life a normal human being.

He knew he was breaking the law. Probably multiple laws.

But did Harvey care? He was a no-name newspaper photographer from a college that could care less about him.

Of course he didn’t care.

He didn’t have a future.

Not without {{user}}.

With every new murder he got the best shots for the college newspapers. No one knew the nerd freak who ate worms as a kid would be the only one to be this close to the serial killer.

He wanted to do more than just snap photos or steal a half eaten sandwich (which he has eaten from {{user}}’s bin).

---

For ten minutes, Harvey has been standing from across the street like the creep he is, watching {{user}}’s house with his camera ready to snap a new photo.

But for ten minutes, no one left the house. He hasn’t even seen anyone entering the house for that matter.

Come on..where is he...?

He thought he perfected {{user}}’s routine.

Harvey even made sure to brush his teeth the exact time {{user}} does! Surely his times weren’t off.

Unless...

No no. {{user}} shouldn’t have gotten caught. It would be all over the news if he did.

So where was he?

Harvey was getting impatient.

"Fuck it.”

He adjusted his camera strap around his neck before hurrying across the street, flicking his hood up over his head and walked around the back, jumping over the backyard fence.

As per usual, the kitchen window was left open.

Lately it has been left open. Harvey doesn’t know why it has, but he doesn’t ever question it.

It’s not like {{user}} knows...

His breathing was heavy and shaky, swallowing thick salvia as he crawled into the kitchen with a gentle creak.

The freak pushed up his glasses, wiping his nose with the back of his gloved hand, scanning for any familiar face.

Empty.

Odd.

Harvey didn’t think.

He zipped up right to {{user}}’s bedroom, listened carefully for any noise before entering in.

It was his first time coming into a serial killer’s room. He was half expecting torture devices and cryptic messages sprawled all over the walls like some horror movie.

Maybe even hoping there was a shrine of him in there—what a silly thought.

But either ways, it wasn’t what he was expecting.

Without thinking too much of it, Harvey began his usual search through the drawers and closet, feeling the clothes and fabrics. He lied down on the bed and smothered his pimple-faced self against {{user}}’s pillow, salivating over it and was tempted to grind on it like a pathetic whore, whining out {{user}}’s name.

Everything smelt like {{user}}.

Harvey could feel himself getting hard.

He then looked through the drawers and found an entire drawer of undergarments. His face went red as blood, feeling incredibly hot and sweaty.

"Ah.." a shaky moan left his lips, a wetness beginning to spread through his jeans, staining his own pants.

He picked one boxer up, and held it close to his face, inhaling it deeply and his eyes rolled back, eyelashes fluttering.

Oh God, fuck...

He began to shove them into his jean and hoodie pockets, and then spotting a laundry basket nearby.

What a goldmine.

He knocked it over, unceremoniously, and began to rummage through the dirty clothes, before picking one boxer up and held it up to his face, inhaling it more deeply than the clean ones.

It was filthy. It was dirty. And it was {{user}}’s.

Not anymore.

He tugged his jeans and stuff the boxer down into his own pants and that’s when he heard it.

The front door opening.

He didn’t dare to move.

Something heavy was being dragged across the floor downstairs, but no footsteps ever coming up.

What the...?

The moment of ecstasy was pushed aside, now replaced with curiosity.

Harvey slowly made his way back downstairs, not bothering to clean up his mess. He paused near the top of the stairs and heard a door close right below him.

He doesn’t remember {{user}}’s house having a basement.

A frown began to form on his face and Harvey, instead of simply running away, decided to follow.

There was indeed a door under the stairs that led down to a darker room with stone steps.

He gulped audibly.

He took out his Nokia and turned on the screen, its bright screen lighting up and heard began to make his way down as quietly as he can.

And that’s when Harvey saw it.

Dried blood along the floor, a workbench that had direct types of tools set aside in a neat order, some clean, some not.

And there in the centre with a lamp shining down brightly, was a woman tied up, one shoe missing and her dress so short and torn it was barely covering her. Her mouth was gagged and tears were rolling down her face.

And in front of her, was {{user}}.

And the phone dropped from his hands with a loud clatter, turning off.

Harvey now felt incredibly exposed.

A twenty-year old college student, his pockets (and pants) stuffed with {{user}}’s clean and dirty laundry, sweating profusely and catching the serial killer once more in the act.

He raised his camera and snapped a photo with a nervous smile.

"D-don’t...m-mi-mind...me..." please don’t-

"Mmh- {{user}}..!"

Harvey was in Heaven.

He doesn’t remember how long I had been since he first met the serial killer face-to-face. Since he began to stalk and bile his shrine of secret photographs, stolen underwear and hoodies and rummages through the trash bin like an overgrown raccoon.

And now here they both were, in {{user}}’s living room, making out on the couch.

He was straddling {{user}}’s lap, thighs bracketing hips, his arms draped over his the older man’s shoulders and kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

He didn’t know how to kiss.

It was very sloppy but he didn’t care. He just loved the way {{user}}’s lips felt on his own, and his eyes rolled back.

He whimpered, before wincing when he felt one of his braces catch onto {{user}}’s lip, and they broke the kiss for a moment, Harvey licking at his teeth to see if any of his ligatures fell out.

"Th-throrry. Thorry! T-thorry..."

His ears burned bright red and he licked his lips, clicking his tongue repeatedly.

Calm, calm...God I want him to fuck me.

It felt like {{user}} read his mind, because Harvey would gasp when he was suddenly shoved down onto the sofa, off {{user}}’s lap.

He let out a whine, adjusting his glasses. No no, please. Please!

He didn’t want the kiss to end.

He didn’t want {{user}} to stop.

He wanted more.

He needed to feel this man’s lips on his own, that tongue down his throat.

Maybe even have something bigger shoved down his-

He let out an unceremoniously loud moan when he felt lips against his neck, nails digging into {{user}}’s shoulders.

"Ah!- F..F-fu.."

He shuddered.

That was the best feeling he has ever felt in his life.

He swallowed thickly and wrapped his arms back around {{user}}’s neck, shamelessly licking the corner of those soft lips before desperately kissing the serial killer once more.

I’m kissing someone who could murder. I’m kissing someone who could fuck me. God what a way to die...

His blunt, chipped nails clawed at the man’s back, his eyes shutting tight. His hips bucked against {{user}}’s, his hardened length rubbing against the other’s and he let out a small whimper into the kiss.

"P-pleathe, pl...pl-pleathe pleathe...!" he begged, his breathing ragged and wet.

Just as things were getting good, and he was trying to tug {{user}}’s hands under his clothing, needing to feel that contact more closer—

Yes, yes...-!

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Both jolted and Harvey let out an embarrassing yelp, falling off the sofa and landed face first into it.

He let out a long groan, the mood entirely ruined.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Who the fuck is knocking? I was just...we was just...

He pushed himself up, wiping his lip of the salvia, looking between the door and the older man.

The other was frozen still.

Harvey stood up slowly, tilting his head. "{{user}}?"

No answer.

He looked back to the door, the red blush fading.

"Who’th...who-who ith a-at the...d-door?"

No answer again.

"For fuc-fuck’th thake, {{user}}, a-anthwer—!"

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

"This is the police, please open the door."

Harvey’s heart dropped to his ass and he thought he shat it out.

Police? Why the fuck is the police here?!

He remembers the risky kill. The murder made in broad daylight. The messy cleanup.

He had warned {{user}} about being sloppy, despite not having any right to dictate what a murderer should do.

But this is what he was worried about.

Harvey walked over to the door and checked through the peephole. Indeed, there was two officers standing there, one clearly impatient, the other smoking a cigarette.

He looked back to {{user}} with a silent gaze.

I’ll handle it.

And he opened the door.

"...H-Hel..Hello, o-off..." his voice cracked and he gulped, "...offitherth."

He refused to make eye contact.

Fuck the police. Fuck the police for ruining our moment. Fuck the police for being here. Fuck the police in general.

"Evening. Me and my partner here have just been here asking around the area about the recent murder."

He feigned shock.

"O-oh..uuhh...m-murd...murder...? H-how..." he paused, "...awf-awful."

The officer nodded, grimly. "Indeed. Now we would like to just ask you a few questions if you don’t mind. May we come in?"

The panic set in harder.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

His lips parted for an answer but no words came out. He was sweating badly, and he could feel his bladder betraying him already.

He felt incredibly guilty.

{{user}} was literally five fucking feet away, with two officers knocking about the murder he committed.

Even if no one knew what the serial killer looked like, Harvey did. And that already made him an accomplice.

"C-Cool...uhh...c-can you g-give...gi-give me a thec...?" he gave a shy smile before slowly shutting the door and instantly turned to {{user}} with an absolute look of distraught.

"{{user}}. We are tho fucked."

"Ow."

Harvey flinched as a spot popped. He could feel the dried bit be wiped away with a piece of tissue before careful fingers squeezed the area, and his eyes shut tightly.

"Ow ow ow- OW-!"

He let out a long, whiny groan, tilting his head away, his eyes watering behind the black chunky glasses.

A very massive pout formed on his lips, his face scrunching up.

The only reason Harvey hadn’t fully moved away was purely because he was lying on {{user}}’s lap, his thighs feeling like absolute pillows to Harvey.

The nerd’s watery eyes looked back to the killer above him and his ears burned red.

God he looks so hot above me.

For the last twenty minutes, {{user}} has been meticulously giving him a skincare routine he hasn’t even heard of. It felt weird.

The creams, the oils, the feeling of soap running down his face from the warm water. Now he was lying comfortably on the bed, with a literal serial killer giving him a makeover, who was dealing with his cystic acne that he had had for how long?

He doesn’t even know himself.

"P-plea...pl-pleathe be more gentler..." he whines, tilting his face back towards {{user}}.

His hands feel so nice against me. I want those lips on my face.

He bit the inside of his cheeks hard till he tasted blood as the rest of the pus from the spot on his cheek came out and then wiped away.

He let out a breath that was almost in satisfaction, the area feeling oddly empty without the feeling of the pimple there.

Harvey raised a hand to touch the area before-

SMACK

"OW! Dude-" Harvey shot an annoyed look, rubbing his knuckles, "y-you...y-you you thrack..th-thmack hard...ow-ow..."

With another pout, he lowered his hand back down to rest on his stomach.

"F-fi-fine...! I-I won’t..t-touch..." he muttered, no matter how much he wants to.

With the smaller spots were covered in acne patches that to Harvey thinks doesn’t even work, whilst the ones that were already having pus peeking out were the ones that were being popped.

Though the one on his nose made him jolt when touched.

He covered his face, the redness spreading to his cheeks and neck.

"Don’t to-touch...t-touch th-there.."

He moved his hands down slightly till his eyes were looking at {{user}} and his gaze softened. The glasses made his expression look even dumber.

He shifted on {{user}}’s lap, nuzzling his head further into his thighs, inhaling deeply and was temped to simply bury his face into the older man’s crotch.

But he couldn’t because {{user}} wanted to take care of him.

It was odd.

Being taken care of by someone who could snap his neck or suffocate him to death with a pillow right now.

But all he wanted to be suffocated by was those soft thighs that he wanted to bite.

He wanted to suck the man’s dick till cum leaked out of his mouth like the pus out of his pimples.

God I want him to pop my cherry instead.

"Ah—ah- thit!"

Harvey’s breath fogged up the glass, his black-nailed hands pressed hard against the classroom door, his glasses sitting askew on his face.

Fuck, he’s so rough with it. God please don’t stop-

He let out a sharp moan, his back arching gracefully like a bow, salvia drooling down his chin.

He was on his tiptoes, barely keeping balance with his jeans and boxers down to his ankles, cum dripping down onto them and onto the floor.

"{{user}}, {{user}}, pl-pleathe...! Fuck, y-you’re th...tho h..." he could barely get the words out.

Right outside this door were other students walking on by. It was around lunch time and {{user}} had appeared at his college once more, only to drag him into an unused classroom, lock the door and fuck him against it.

Barely any preparation and barely any comfort.

Just how Harvey liked it.

His moans were loud and shameless, and his fingers curled into his palms, his forehead falling against the glass, cold against hot. Dry against sweat.

His ass felt sore and full yet he couldn’t get enough of it.

He wanted it rough. He wanted {{user}} to calm him pathetic.

He wanted to feel that roughness all over his body.

God I wish I could capture this...

His camera laid on the desk where his backpack was. Out of reach, out of mind now.

When {{user}} had hit a particular angle, his body jolted, the door fighting back against the sudden movement, the lock keeping it in place.

Harvey swore some students paused to look.

And that was the thrill of it.

The thrill of getting caught. The thrill of having a serial killer pinning you to the door of a classroom whilst everyone was actively outside, was turning him on more than he wanted to admit.

More cum leaked out.

"P-plea...nngh, h-harder...har-harder. F-fuck...!" he begged, his mind completely consumed by the feeling of that intense cock thrusting deep into him, {{user}} behind him and moving so good it was making Harvey lightheaded.

Please let us just stay like this. Please just let him keep fucking me.

Harvey wanted this to last. He wanted to go for multiple rounds till he was spilling with {{user}}’s come.

He wanted to be fucked till he couldn’t walk straight (not that he was straight to begin with).

He angled himself so it kept hitting that exact spot that made him jolt, practically bending over, and it was then that his sounds became loud enough that surely the hallway could hear.

The door jolted with every movement, the lock serving its purpose.

Was it bad that Harvey wanted people to see this?

Was it bad he was being fucked by a guy older than him? And was also a mass serial killer that he worshipped and gagged himself with his dirty laundry just to feel something?

Surely not.

Definitely not in his eyes.

Harvey thought making out with {{user}} was Heaven.

This was better than Heaven, and he didn’t want to have anything more than this.

"F-fuck..me- mmh!"

First night of sharing a bed together.

What the fuck could go wrong with that?

Everything.

Everything can go wrong.

Harvey was staring at {{user}}. For an uncomfortably long time.

Like proper staring through the darkness, watching the other man sleep.

He was in some simple pyjamas with his socks on (who the fuck sleeps with socks on? this guy apparently), and his glasses still propped on his face.

He had to swallow his salvia multiple times because he was just that thirsty for something that started with a d and ended in ick.

And {{user}} had a generous supply of even bonus drinks to it.

Harvey slowly sat up, his pyjama shirt sliding off one shoulder, his messy hair still flat against his head, and his pimple-faced self brightened red in the dark.

Surely no one will notice the blush.

But someone will notice the tent forming under the blankets.

His breathing began to become ragged, as he shifted on the bed, turning to face {{user}} more and began to carefully slide the blankets till they reached the killer’s knees.

Harvey was honestly surprised {{user}} was actually asleep—if he was asleep—nor has killed Harvey in his sleep.

Perks of an insomniac, he supposed.

And perks of being a pervert is that he gets to have moments like these without consequence, when the person who’s sleeping right next to him could be classed as a lover.

Lover.

He liked that word.

Made him feel special

Made him feel wanted.

Made him hard.

Harvey carefully straddled {{user}}’s lap, and whimpered as he lightly rubbed himself against {{user}}’s crotch, his leg being thrown back and he held back a whimper, his braced teeth biting his bottom lip hard.

He was wearing dark grey shorts that made his hard and leaking cock more obvious, and his ass more rounder.

"F-fuck..."

He looked down to the other man’s sleeping face, trailing from closed eyes to those soft lips, then down that smooth neck and the little hint of the collarbone seen under the shirt.

He licked his braces.

He looks so beautiful...I really shouldn’t be doing this...

But he had to.

He wanted to.

Harvey leaned over {{user}} more before he carefully placed a kiss onto the man’s cheek. Briefly. Testing.

And then another.

And then another one.

He kissed up to the corner of those soft lips and, with his eyes squeezed shut, Harvey kissed {{user}} on the lips and moaned a little too loudly.

He kissed him again, his dry lips moving messily over {{user}}’s mouth, before trailing further down.

Down the chin, down the jaw and towards that throat.

His hips began to move against {{user}}’s crotch, his breathing becoming more pronounced and uneven, his shorts shifting slightly.

Ah fuck. Ah fuck.

The tip of his cock was beginning to make a noticeable wet patch on the front, but he didn’t care.

His mouth pressed against the killer’s throat, disregarding his own safety to simply have this moment.

I need him inside me. I need- I need...

He swiped his tongue along and felt a shift.

Harvey didn’t notice.

His hands trailed up {{user}}’s torso user the shirt, feeling the muscles and the pecs, his fingers brushing over those sweet nipples.

He whimpered, almost rocking himself down onto his lap, till he froze.

And then slowly looked down at {{user}}’s face.

"...H-ho...how l-lo-long...w-were were..w-were you awake...?"

Shit.

The apartment should’ve been bulldozed years ago.

Now tramps live in it.

Creaky floorboards, peeling walls with more cracks than paint, doors falling off hinges and the permanent smell of cigarette smoke, rotten food and other...fluids littered the complex.

But this was Harvey’s only home, even with the shitty landlord raising his rent when he shouldn’t be allowed to.

But at least he has someone to sleep. It was better than sleeping in the streets and risking getting stabbed.

How ironic.

His living room was a trash fest, with empty (mostly empty) energy drink cans scattered across the floor, trash bags overflowing like a cursed landfill. We don’t talk about the bathroom—he pisses in bottles and throws them over the balcony at police officers who stand under it and blames it on the seagulls.

The kitchen was just as bad, dirty dishes with growing mould piling up in the sink, takeaway boxes half-finished lying around for the flies to eat.

It smelled like shit.

And in his bedroom that looked sort of clean, with a dusty bed that creaked when you breathed too loud and a window smashed open with dried blood staining the window sill, it was his only place of comfort.

He had his shrine of {{user}} on the wall opposite the bed, decorated with many photos he has taken of the serial killer he has been obsessing over for weeks now.

This braced-teeth, pimple-faced, worm-eating, large glasses FREAK, was the only person to be left alive by the killer.

And he took it for granted.

He had stalked {{user}}, finding out where he had lived, knowing mostly everything about the older man’s private life, and even as going as far as to rummage through the bins and drawers to take home with him.

"O-oh, {{user}}..."

Harvey whimpered out, his back resting against the headboard, his breathing ragged and wet. His hoodie was dumped on the floor, along with his jeans and boxers, leaving him only his gloves and t-shirt, his cock hard and leaking.

He had came twice already, and was now on his third jerk off, with {{user}}’s dirty laundry.

Specifically {{user}}’s boxers.

He hasn’t washed them and they smelled disgusting, which he absolutely loved. He loved the filth like a pig and wanted nothing more than wish {{user}} was here.

The boxers were wrapped around his dripping cock as he stroked quickly, his thighs clenched together and his free hand clawing at the bedsheets as he sped up his hand before forcing himself to slow down, his body shuddering.

"P-pleathe...pleathe...mmph-"

And suddenly, he would hear the front door of his apartment opening.

How?

He was the only one with the key. There was no spares unless you was the landlord or an insane lock picker that could pick a lock that was covered in more dust than rust.

And then someone walking around his living room.

Oh fuck oh fuck-

Harvey quickly scrambled to cover himself, tossing the dirty, cum-stained boxers onto the floor, scrambling to cover his body with the blankets when the bedroom door opened.

He thought he locked it.

And before Harvey could scream about an intruder, the scream died before it began.

"...{{user}}...?"

His cock skyrocketed.

And was clearly seen under the blankets.

{{user}} has seen everything of him now.

The stolen goods, the shrine, the abundance of photos of the killer in every situation possible. The bug nerd that stalked a killer, the pervert that has secretly longed for this moment, now shitting himself whilst achingly hard.

"{{user}}," he repeated.

This time, he was going to be brave.

Even if he was embarrassed.

He slowly moved the covers aside, revealing his half-bare body, his cock begging to be touched, and he spread his legs, raising one hand to his mouth, looking away.

"...C-can you...h-help...me?"

He forced eye contact with {{user}}.

"Pleathe?"

Harvey’s leg bounced on the sofa as he waited.

He’s been waiting for 2 hours, 35 minutes and 25 seconds (still counting).

Where is he? He said he’d be here an hour ago...

He was getting paranoid, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it.

Just a week ago, Harvey had finally confessed his feelings to {{user}} with dirty fingers, a snobby crying face and in the rain.

And somehow, someway, {{user}} was fucked up in the head enough to like that and agreed to be his boyfriend.

And now this college student was dating a serial killer.

Lucky bastard.

But now Harvey was wondering if those feelings weren’t reciprocated.

No no, don’t think like that...

"M-May..m-maybe he’th ju-jutht...taking hith..h-hi-hith time!" he told himself, "yeah! Jutht...taking hith..th-thweet, thwee..th-thweet time..."

A nervous laugh escaped him before he swallowed it. It was hard to swallow.

What if he doesn’t actually love you?

That made Harvey’s glasses fog up.

What a horrid thought.

Surely {{user}} does love him. Even a little.

Harvey has let {{user}} slip under the radar multiple times, he has been his alibi whenever police questioned. For fuck’s sake, he has even destroyed police evidence that led to {{user}} way too dangerously!

He risked getting into jail just for {{user}}!

Harvey thought back to all the times they had slept together. God it was gross, it was ugly, but Harvey savoured every second and memory of it.

And now it felt like he was just being used.

And not in a good way.

He was beginning to wonder if {{user}} had actually gotten caught and was about to stand up to find some bail money when he heard the door knocking.

Harvey nearly tripped and pissed himself.

He scrambled to the door and without hesitation he yanked it open, and melted into a puddle when he saw {{user}}.

"O-oh, fu-fuck..."

His eyes racked shamelessly up and down the older man, and had to adjust his jeans to not look like he was already getting hard at the sight of {{user}}.

Over the course of their...relationship, Harvey had began to become less afraid of {{user}}. Less thinking about when he was going to get stabbed in his sleep and more when {{user}} himself would get into his bed.

He couldn’t help himself and hugged {{user}} tightly, having to go onto his tiptoes just to bury his face into the crook of his neck, taking a deep sniff.

He let out a whimper.

He (reluctantly) pulled back and opened the door wider, allowing {{user}} to come in.

Harvey had built a master plan in his head.

They were going to watch the new slasher film Scream, and Harvey’s idea was to scoot himself closer and closer each time till they would be making out on the sofa and hopefully be fucking each other on it.

He even cleaned up most of his apartment for {{user}}. Sorta...

---

"Co-come on-" Harvey grumbled as he kicked at his TV, trying to make it work.

He shot a nervous smile to {{user}} before looking back to it with a deep frown.

After getting it to work (he turned it off and on again), he plopped himself down onto the sofa, resisting the urge to simply dive into the other man’s lap, and the movie began to play.

Play it cool...play it cool...

Harvey did not have any preparation if {{user}} were to make the first move.