Steve Harrington Shirtless Novels & Stories

I crooned, pressing my palms flat onto his bare chest—it was only then I noted that he was shirtless. My eyes traced the valley between his pectoral muscles, moving down to the hills and ripples of his carved and chiseled abdominal muscles, right up until the V lines which led further down south with a dark sprinkling of hair. I swallowed but my throat had run dry so it felt like ingesting grains of sand. And, when I looked more closely, I realized Jericho only had on a pair of Iron Man boxers. A jovial smile crept onto my face even though my skin flushed from his utter lack of clothing, "Aren't you too old for these?"

I bite the inside of my cheek as I catch sight of Warren standing there, shirtless and glistening with sweat, looking like he just stepped out of a magazine cover. His tan abs are practically gleaming in the dim light, and I notice how his baggy cargo jeans with straps that wrap around his shoulders, cling to his hips in all the right places, emphasizing his perfect V-line. His black hair is styled to perfection, but a stray strand falls across his forehead, making him look even more disheveled and irresistible.

Standing there was Victor, spreading his undeniable charm; except he was shirtless, with a towel wrapped around his waist, dangerously low. Oh, what the....

The suit's fabric embraced his form with precision, sculpting his frame in a way that conveyed strength and elegance in equal measure. The darkness of his attire was punctuated by a bold statement: a deep red shirt that accentuated his confidence. The top buttons of the shirt remained undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his tattooed chest. The inked patterns danced across his skin, a testament to a hidden side of him that few were privy to witness. The intricate designs told stories of his past, a tapestry of experiences woven into the very fabric of his being.

As he demanded, Athena made him a sandwich. By the time she was done cooking, he already came down, but without his shirt, he was only in his sweatpants, his tattoos visible to her. He had a cobra on his front and something that looked like a stork or a hawk in the back. She was figuring out why he got all of his skin covered in tattoos, “Stop ogling,” he yelled at her without a tiny bit of gentleness in his tone.

It made her steps lighter. She headed straight for the kitchen because she wanted an apple to start her day. Maybe a bottle of cold water too. But the moment she stepped through the door, she froze. There, in the bright kitchen, Santino stood with an apron tied carelessly around his waist. And he was shirtless. Completely shirtless. His strong back faced her at first, all defined lines and warm skin, and he was flipping something in a pan like he cooked shirtless every day. He wore only a pair of jeans sitting low on his hips, and his usually neat, slicked-back hair was a messy disaster like he had been running his hands through it for an hour.

I took a deep breath and answered calmly, "Hank, Luis told me to wake you up for breakfast. He said you still have work later, so don't be late." There was a muffled ‘oh’ from inside, and he said to give him a minute. Hearing that, I went back to the table and continued eating. Not long after, there was movement at Hank's door. I looked up and froze. Hank walked out, shirtless. The moment I saw the marks across his chest and back, those long, overlapping scratches, my heart tightened again. Seriously? Luis was right there, yet Hank still would not even put on a shirt. What was wrong with him?

But really, this was one night out of many where what I wanted was to do something alone or why have a business you can't run or hire a manager so shit like this doesn't occur? He tsked. “Might have to ask Steve then. You know what he's doing?” I shrugged. “You have his number.” “Who broke your heart anyway?” he cleared his throat. “And that shirt makes you look fucking gay.” I looked down at my red vintage shirt with leaf prints on it and up to face him. Was anything really wrong with the shirt?

He was shirtless and had his back turned, his boy was tanned, and boy was he ripped, his arms were huge, I know they were from the clothes he wore but seeing him bareback was a different story. “Taking your fill I see” shit, I've been caught staring.

I’m not kidding. Then I zoomed in on another picture and paused. His shirt looked… wrong? Like, off. I looked up and— My brain short-circuited. He was shirtless. Standing there in front of everyone, abs glistening like they’d been painted on, tattoos crawling across his chest and arm — a massive bird spreading its wings like it could fly off his skin. I forgot to breathe. And then people started screaming. Phones came up, girls pushed forward, and I was right there with them.