I do. One at home, one at work. Private office. It's quiet after hours. You'd fit right in. My boy wants to remember what my hand is like gripping hard around his neck, huh? My fingers in his hair, scalp prickling the rest of the night? Go home with the smell of me lingering under his nose and on his lips, making everyone wonder what he's been up to even though he looks so goddamn innocent? You wanna feel the ache in your knees from hours of putting in your time, keeping yourself full of me?
[fuck, his breath comes out in a hard rush and his fingers squeeze tight around the base of his own throbbing dick at the idea of it, and those sounds are encouragement enough that he can almost pretend he feels that sweet mouth instead of the rough palm of his hand, marred by callouses from years of pen-holding and tennis backhands.
and then skippy splays himself out - the natural trajectory this would go if it were real. hawk would keep him on his knees, patient and sitting pretty with his own militant control on the situation even if he'd want to fuck him raw until tears were streaming down his cheeks. long enough until he yanked him back up and bent him over solid wood before laying claim to that untouched little wink of pink beckoning to be stretched out over his spit-slick cock.]
Don't ask questions you know the answer to already, Skippy. 'Course I would. Your hand won't even come close, but you don't have to take my word for it.
[he's not the sort of man who needs to brag about what's in his pants, but he gets the sense his boy won't mistake it with insecurity as opposed to a statement of fact. knowing he's the first one tonight - maybe even today from just how empty he is makes a swell of pride and possession flare up, warm in his chest and all the way down to his belly.]
Show me how good you can take it. One at a time - just your fingers. And you don't dare touch anything else until I say so, you got that? I own you.
[at least for the next thirteen minutes and counting.]
Tell me who you belong to. Whose hole is that? Whose cock are you begging for?
no subject
I do. One at home, one at work. Private office. It's quiet after hours. You'd fit right in.
My boy wants to remember what my hand is like gripping hard around his neck, huh? My fingers in his hair, scalp prickling the rest of the night?
Go home with the smell of me lingering under his nose and on his lips, making everyone wonder what he's been up to even though he looks so goddamn innocent?
You wanna feel the ache in your knees from hours of putting in your time, keeping yourself full of me?
[fuck, his breath comes out in a hard rush and his fingers squeeze tight around the base of his own throbbing dick at the idea of it, and those sounds are encouragement enough that he can almost pretend he feels that sweet mouth instead of the rough palm of his hand, marred by callouses from years of pen-holding and tennis backhands.
and then skippy splays himself out - the natural trajectory this would go if it were real. hawk would keep him on his knees, patient and sitting pretty with his own militant control on the situation even if he'd want to fuck him raw until tears were streaming down his cheeks. long enough until he yanked him back up and bent him over solid wood before laying claim to that untouched little wink of pink beckoning to be stretched out over his spit-slick cock.]
Don't ask questions you know the answer to already, Skippy.
'Course I would.
Your hand won't even come close, but you don't have to take my word for it.
[he's not the sort of man who needs to brag about what's in his pants, but he gets the sense his boy won't mistake it with insecurity as opposed to a statement of fact. knowing he's the first one tonight - maybe even today from just how empty he is makes a swell of pride and possession flare up, warm in his chest and all the way down to his belly.]
Show me how good you can take it. One at a time - just your fingers.
And you don't dare touch anything else until I say so, you got that?
I own you.
[at least for the next thirteen minutes and counting.]
Tell me who you belong to.
Whose hole is that?
Whose cock are you begging for?