Frostbite (16+)

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  • Rating:
  • Published: 22 Nov 2013
  • Updated: 26 May 2014
  • Status: Complete
Harry is struggling with the sex addiction that controls his life, leaving him depressed and frustrated. On top of everything he's feeling a growing affection and sexual attraction toward his best friend, Louis. But it's surely because of his addiction, right?


(Also posted to 1DFF)


1. Prologue

Cold December air met Harry Styles’ face as he opened the balcony door and lit a cigarette. It was no habit of his, but as he inhaled it and it filled his lungs he couldn’t help but wonder why not. His already heavy eyes went shut for a few short seconds before he opened his eyes and watched as smoke was exhaled and stolen by the cold wind.

His cock was already reacting to the anticipation Harry was filled with. He’d had no sort of release in six hours, not even a single wank. That had to be a personal record.

When half the cigarette had turned into ashes and disappeared over the railing, Harry threw a glance in through the window, landing on the clock on the wall. Four minutes to go. He stomped the cigarette against the wall and threw it away before reentering his hotel room.

The bottle of red wine on the table was half empty, but those two and a half glasses was exactly what he needed to calm his nerves. This room was rented for the sole purpose of the following meeting. Harry needed it to be able to continue sharing his apartment with Louis without exploding.

He was relaxed as he heard a knock on the door. He was already on his feet, but stood still for a few moments, just to hide his desperation. Even when he came to the door, he stood there for a moment, before opening the door.

Before his eyes were a Swedish blonde ready to fulfill his needs. This was his last resort.
“You look just like in your ad,” Harry commented before opening the door and let the girl in, eyeing her undoubtedly fake breasts as she passed her.
“Of course I do, Harry Styles,” she replied, emphasizing his last name, as if to make it known that she recognized him.

The Swede was his fourth escort girl this week. Harry had reached a point where paying for sex felt more private than hooking up with some random girl he’d hate afterwards. Because he did, every single time. The second his orgasm bliss had passed, he wanted to throw up at the slut next to him in the bed. Or in the bathroom stall, dark closet or maybe shower.  In his opinion they were all nasty sluts who fucked him just for the fame. With hookers they fucked him for the money and wanted to get away as soon as they were paid.

“Let’s get to it then, baby,” the petite Swede said as she shoved Harry down on the bed and fell to her knees in front of him. No need to chat, she was paid to give him an orgasm and nothing else.

Harry started unbuckling his belt when he felt a warm hand over his and looked down on a face with deep blue eyes and a sensuous smile playing over her lips.
“Let me do the work, mister,” she murmured and Harry’s hands retreated in response.

Harry’s pants met his ankles fairly quick, and a carefully manicured hand massaged the bulge in his grey boxers. His eyes closed and his body was immediately reacting to the touch.
“W-what was your name again?” He stuttered out in a whisper. He knew, oh he knew very well, but he just wanted to hear her say it before taking his cock into her dirty little mouth.

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