[ his vision blurs enough with the exertion, with the desperate hold he has on the last shred of control he has. if he lets himself fall into the pleasure, he'll finger himself to completion and that's not the goal here, is it? instead, he tries to keep focused on the words on the screen.

god, he wishes he could hear his voice, at the very least.

(he'll wake up tomorrow with insurmountable shame - the desperation for real, human connection so far gone that a man on the other side of a paid, pornographic chat has become his comfort for the night. his shield in the storm.) ]

I wanna cum. Please - sir, please... I promise, I'll -

[ but he sees the words do it and it's with one last press and curl of his fingers that he falls apart, his voice coming out in a spray of shit, fuck, i'm gonna - it's - oh jesus - the music in his room isn't loud enough for this - to cover the choking wail that comes out of his mouth, the way his jaw becomes visible again, mouth dropped open and wide as he groans. his body clenches, hips squirm and the wiry muscles in his thigh twitch visibly.

on the bed between his thighs he comes hard and heavy, strings of pearly white spreading across the fabric, blotting and dampening it. he can hear nothing but thunder in his ears for a moment, and when he comes to, his hand sliding from his sore, fluttering hole, he heaves in breaths that make his whole body shudder and shake.

he opens his eyes, and when he's met with the screen once more and not the warm hand in his hair or smoothing down along his sweaty back, his stomach drops a little.

he's such an idiot. ]

I...

[ he's so sensitive, all nerve endings on fire and he almost wants to beg for the man to take it back. to not ask him to touch himself now until he has a second to recoup, to quiet the fire coursing through his blood. but alas. ]

How much did I make you cum? I'm your boy - and I want to be the best boy you've had.

[ his voice is quiet, hoarse as he pants through the burning afterglow of his climax. but he obeys, just like the perfect good little pet he is. the same hand, spit slicked and sweaty, reaches down between his legs for his aching, weeping cock. he stays like that a moment, so that the man can see the spoils of their passion - hole flared and red, fluttering still as his body spasms and jolts from his orgasm.

he doesn't let the view last long. turning to fall onto one hip in the frame so that milton (no, tim decides, that is not his name) can see everything. his chest, flushed pink and sweaty, nipples hard, and hand curled perfectly around a ripened, hard cock, beginning to stroke slowly.

but every movement causes him to jump a little, like little static shocks, and he's sloppy - the camera shows all of his chin, his mouth, but nothing more. enough that hawk can undoubtedly see the way he bites hard on his bottom lip. ]

I never want you to be done with me. You're so good. I haven't earned it.

[ thus, the blistering punishment that is stroking himself off after such a wild and frenzied rush. it's already getting him worked up again, however, stroking himself. he pauses a moment to catch his breath, arching his back as he presses his thumb to his egregiously weeping slit, much like the man had said he'd do before. ]

I'm losing my mind. [ it tumbles out in an urgent whine as his hand moves again, stuttering. ]

Is your hand bigger than mine? Would you go faster? Slower? Play with my balls or just edge me here until I'm begging to be your boy, your sweetheart, your princess if I had to be?

Jesus Christ -

[ another little gasp, a whimper, and he tosses his head back, revealing the heavy bob of his adam's apple when he swallows hard around a moan. ]