[ with the holidays around the corner it's easy for tim to feel morose, to feel the pull of longing for something that will never come to pass. he will never have a truly happy home to return to - he will never have the peace that others know, a safe place, a respite, a landing pad. he has his dorm, the consistency of schoolwork, the stress of survival, and what? this job?
the consistency of this man - faceless and as distant as anything. but somehow, feeling raw and uncertain and vulnerable right now feels right. it shouldn't.
god, he'll regret this.
"Don't second guess yourself, Skippy." god, is it sad that a stranger believes in him more than anyone in his real life? it is.
tim huffs again, a little bemused laugh that is only swallowed back down into a low groan. ]
My body's on fire. Everything I touch feels like I'm touching live wire. Heat from my toes to my head. My dick hurts so much for wanting your hand on it, because mine's not enough. It's not. I feel empty all over again and - God -
[ he chokes a little when his thumb mistakenly catches against his frenulum, sensitive and raw, making another pearly bead gather at the slit. he lets out a shuddering breath, loosens his hand and slides it down briefly to fondle the heavy weight of his sack for a moment, a reprieve from the hypersensitivity everywhere else. ]
Too many questions for you, sir. Sorry. S'why I don't talk on here. Get carried away.
[ he grins a little, knowing the man can see it and he brings his hand back to circle his dick, alternating back and forth just as the man said he'd do. but it's unfair that this faceless man makes such a confession.
you wouldn't really have to beg. ]
Tell me how you want me to fall apart, sir. Your Skippy aims to please.
[ but he's already squirming with every stroke and touch, his breathing quickening, his voice pitching up just so, the edge of near hysteria setting in as his dick hardens cruelly in his palm. ]
I feel like - I'm going to burst. I can't - [ he's panting, his free hand fumbling wildly for something to seek purchase upon, and he merely ends up with a fistful of the blankets from the bed he's debauched. the muscles in his thighs strain, his heels dig into the plush mattress, his hips begin to buck into his own hand as he writhes, almost like a caged thing, unable to control itself. ]
Tell me what to - I need it - again - I'll... [ he bites his own lip again as another loud, heady moan begins to work its way from his throat. he is seeing the stars, and among them, he's sure, is the faint outline of of Cassiopeia, stars aligned to paint a picture of the ancient queen herself, bound to her throne, made only to experience life from far, far, away, in punishment.
no subject
the consistency of this man - faceless and as distant as anything. but somehow, feeling raw and uncertain and vulnerable right now feels right. it shouldn't.
god, he'll regret this.
"Don't second guess yourself, Skippy." god, is it sad that a stranger believes in him more than anyone in his real life? it is.
tim huffs again, a little bemused laugh that is only swallowed back down into a low groan. ]
My body's on fire. Everything I touch feels like I'm touching live wire. Heat from my toes to my head. My dick hurts so much for wanting your hand on it, because mine's not enough. It's not. I feel empty all over again and - God -
[ he chokes a little when his thumb mistakenly catches against his frenulum, sensitive and raw, making another pearly bead gather at the slit. he lets out a shuddering breath, loosens his hand and slides it down briefly to fondle the heavy weight of his sack for a moment, a reprieve from the hypersensitivity everywhere else. ]
Too many questions for you, sir. Sorry. S'why I don't talk on here. Get carried away.
[ he grins a little, knowing the man can see it and he brings his hand back to circle his dick, alternating back and forth just as the man said he'd do. but it's unfair that this faceless man makes such a confession.
you wouldn't really have to beg. ]
Tell me how you want me to fall apart, sir. Your Skippy aims to please.
[ but he's already squirming with every stroke and touch, his breathing quickening, his voice pitching up just so, the edge of near hysteria setting in as his dick hardens cruelly in his palm. ]
I feel like - I'm going to burst. I can't - [ he's panting, his free hand fumbling wildly for something to seek purchase upon, and he merely ends up with a fistful of the blankets from the bed he's debauched. the muscles in his thighs strain, his heels dig into the plush mattress, his hips begin to buck into his own hand as he writhes, almost like a caged thing, unable to control itself. ]
Tell me what to - I need it - again - I'll... [ he bites his own lip again as another loud, heady moan begins to work its way from his throat. he is seeing the stars, and among them, he's sure, is the faint outline of of Cassiopeia, stars aligned to paint a picture of the ancient queen herself, bound to her throne, made only to experience life from far, far, away, in punishment.
how apt. ]