Steve Harrington Shirtless Novels & Stories

ARRETT Xavier standing there shirtless shouldn’t be a big deal because we’ve all seen him without a shirt a thousand times. But right now with the context of what we’re about to do, it feels different. Nobody moves for what feels like a full minute. Then Nash stands up and pulls off his own shirt like he’s ripping off a band-aid. “Fuck it. We’re doing this.” Cole is still standing by the pool table looking like he’s reconsidering every life choice that led to this moment. “How does this even work? Do we just all—”

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.

The long-awaited press conference was about to begin. At the head of the room stood Mr. Harrington, dressed in a sharply tailored suit that looked as if it were made for him alone. His gray hair, always impeccably groomed, glistened under the lights, and his sharp blue eyes sparkled with a mixture of calm authority and underlying amusement. He had the aura of someone who was used to taking control of every situation, yet today, even he seemed to be filled with a quiet excitement.

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.

Ray apologized and Henry shook his head at him before he stalked towards me. From the corner of my eyes I saw Tina step backwards shyly and to be honest I wanted to do the same too. Everyone was watching us and I felt so shy I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I finally saw Henry properly as he stepped out in front of his opened locker. He had taken off his shirt revealing a toned chest which did pack,he had sweat trailing down his chest and disappearing into his shorts. A trail of hair lined his abdominal button and into his shorts.

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?