[hawk is absolutely not about to stop and google whatever the fuck cassiopeia is - presumably some sort of star or extraterrestrial body. astronomy was something he managed to avoid when he was busy stacking his schedule with polisci, econ, and criminal justice back in the day. there's a good sense skippy is something of a dreamer, and a well read one at that. maybe part of him likes the little things he can surmise from this alone, filling in the blanks on a profile he's only been half given when it doesn't seem that far from the truth.
there's a single drop of sweat he can feel trickling down his temple, breath coming in heavy pants as his fist ratchets up the speed once more as he watches skippy take what he's been given. four looks like a tight squeeze, and with the additional instructions he's been following it makes hawk's mouth water at the idea that he's more than a little bendy if he can twist himself to and fro with only a minimal strain. if he wanted to take it easy on the poor boy he knows there's a whole smorgasbord of dildos and vibrators and shit that looks like it originated from aliens on whatever the hell cassiopeia is. and sure, maybe some men like it to keep going and going and going with battery-powered assistance, but to hawk? nothing beats the feel of real manhood and a good pounding. so no, no shortcuts here.]
Mm, you're doing a hell of a job. If I was there, I'd still be enjoying the show.
[there's nothing to suggest that's a real invitation - just more of the generic dirty talk to heighten the fantasy. but if he was there, he'd have long since ripped away skippy's hand and bent him in half to finish the job. still wouldn't let him touch his cock, though, not that it seems to need much help with how pretty it's drenching his mattress - and, are those flowers? definitely not what he expected. and utterly not the point, as he rocks his hips up and fucks into his own fist, typing coming in with more urgency even as he fights to keep his spelling clear.]
You got me, Skippy. I'm right here, watching e very move. You wanna cum yeah? You close ?
[hawk watches his hips roll, bewitched by the sight of him staving off his own needs like a good boy, and fuck if that doesn't just set him alight from within. his eyes slip shut for a brief moment, head tossed back as he feels himself hurtling towards his own climax.]
Keep fucking your fingers then. Pretend its me, putting you in your place and giving my boy what he needs.
Do it. Im here.
Jesus - fuck
[that's all he can manage before he crashes into his own orgasm, cock spurting over his fist between obscene, filthy noises of rutting into his own palm and creaking leather from his chair. but he never takes his eyes off the pretty thing on screen - and he's not done, not as he watches every tremble and twitch and the pearly white liquid he'd steal a lick of from skippy's sorely untouched cock. after an orgasm like that, anyone would be sensitive. too sensitive, even. his own breathing hasn't even begun to come down, and he's reaching absently for a kleenex when he shoots over:]
Did you think I was done with you? Not a chance. I wasn't fair tonight. Not entirely. Go ahead - stroke yourself off now.
no subject
there's a single drop of sweat he can feel trickling down his temple, breath coming in heavy pants as his fist ratchets up the speed once more as he watches skippy take what he's been given. four looks like a tight squeeze, and with the additional instructions he's been following it makes hawk's mouth water at the idea that he's more than a little bendy if he can twist himself to and fro with only a minimal strain. if he wanted to take it easy on the poor boy he knows there's a whole smorgasbord of dildos and vibrators and shit that looks like it originated from aliens on whatever the hell cassiopeia is. and sure, maybe some men like it to keep going and going and going with battery-powered assistance, but to hawk? nothing beats the feel of real manhood and a good pounding. so no, no shortcuts here.]
Mm, you're doing a hell of a job. If I was there, I'd still be enjoying the show.
[there's nothing to suggest that's a real invitation - just more of the generic dirty talk to heighten the fantasy. but if he was there, he'd have long since ripped away skippy's hand and bent him in half to finish the job. still wouldn't let him touch his cock, though, not that it seems to need much help with how pretty it's drenching his mattress - and, are those flowers? definitely not what he expected. and utterly not the point, as he rocks his hips up and fucks into his own fist, typing coming in with more urgency even as he fights to keep his spelling clear.]
You got me, Skippy. I'm right here, watching e very move.
You wanna cum yeah? You close ?
[hawk watches his hips roll, bewitched by the sight of him staving off his own needs like a good boy, and fuck if that doesn't just set him alight from within. his eyes slip shut for a brief moment, head tossed back as he feels himself hurtling towards his own climax.]
Keep fucking your fingers then. Pretend its me, putting you in your place and giving my boy what he needs.
Do it. Im here.
Jesus - fuck
[that's all he can manage before he crashes into his own orgasm, cock spurting over his fist between obscene, filthy noises of rutting into his own palm and creaking leather from his chair. but he never takes his eyes off the pretty thing on screen - and he's not done, not as he watches every tremble and twitch and the pearly white liquid he'd steal a lick of from skippy's sorely untouched cock. after an orgasm like that, anyone would be sensitive. too sensitive, even. his own breathing hasn't even begun to come down, and he's reaching absently for a kleenex when he shoots over:]
Did you think I was done with you? Not a chance.
I wasn't fair tonight. Not entirely.
Go ahead - stroke yourself off now.