[and maybe it's the note of flirtatiousness in skippy's voice, the slightly lower pitched inquiry that proves his boy isn't just some naΓ―ve little sycophant that's gonna tell him what he's paying to hear. as long as he keeps asking questions like that - the kind that get him hot in the collar and already half-hard, considering another go on his own, not the personal ones that extend beyond what belongs in a bedroom or a chatbox.]
I wouldn't keep you still, Skippy. I'd fuck you through it - and it'd be tempting to go as fast and hard as I want your hand to keep moving, but variety is the spice of life. Think I'd go nice and slow, hitting the one place that'd make you scream even louder. You'd be a goner in my arms, and I'd tell you what a good boy you are the whole way through, right against your ear, nice and low. Because you are, and it's just for me, isn't that right?
[watching the rest of this unfold is like a train without the emergency breaks, wheels off the track and moving on inertia alone. hawk turns up his volume, exhaling slowly as the filthy noises of slickness and hot flesh working itself against each other mingle with skippy's cries of strained bliss. fucking beautiful, just gorgeous - he wants to type, but is that too intimate? an overstep into the kinds of compliments he gives the dean's secretary, or lucy when she's in town. besides, he thinks skippy will much more appreciate a succinct:]
That's my boy. Well done.
[part of him wishes he were there to get a taste of that mess - to lave the flat of his tongue against the line of his abdomen and trace it all the way up, or drag a finger through it and suck. but he'll have to settle for watching the heave of his chest, listen to the way his breathing is still audible between little gasps as the aftershocks work their way through him.
and this is where he'd agree. thank him for his time, send him another tip and then log off. all good things come to an end, and he's never had a reason to drag out his goodbyes. until -]
Always. You were something else tonight, sweetheart.
[there's a hesitation, wondering if skippy will end it and get back to - whatever it is he does after these. it's late, christ, somehow having skipped just shy of midnight, which means he's gone well over his initial thirty minutes. losing track of time like that was much too easy to do. dangerous, again. he should just leave him to it, but...]
That was intense. You alright, Skip?
[something tells him skippy will appreciate the extra care, the extended goodbye. and he'll definitely appreciate the second payment of $250 hawk is going to send over - except, he gets the sense it might cheapen the whole thing if he does it now. so he doesn't. not yet.]
no subject
[and maybe it's the note of flirtatiousness in skippy's voice, the slightly lower pitched inquiry that proves his boy isn't just some naΓ―ve little sycophant that's gonna tell him what he's paying to hear. as long as he keeps asking questions like that - the kind that get him hot in the collar and already half-hard, considering another go on his own, not the personal ones that extend beyond what belongs in a bedroom or a chatbox.]
I wouldn't keep you still, Skippy. I'd fuck you through it - and it'd be tempting to go as fast and hard as I want your hand to keep moving, but variety is the spice of life.
Think I'd go nice and slow, hitting the one place that'd make you scream even louder.
You'd be a goner in my arms, and I'd tell you what a good boy you are the whole way through, right against your ear, nice and low.
Because you are, and it's just for me, isn't that right?
[watching the rest of this unfold is like a train without the emergency breaks, wheels off the track and moving on inertia alone. hawk turns up his volume, exhaling slowly as the filthy noises of slickness and hot flesh working itself against each other mingle with skippy's cries of strained bliss. fucking beautiful, just gorgeous - he wants to type, but is that too intimate? an overstep into the kinds of compliments he gives the dean's secretary, or lucy when she's in town. besides, he thinks skippy will much more appreciate a succinct:]
That's my boy.
Well done.
[part of him wishes he were there to get a taste of that mess - to lave the flat of his tongue against the line of his abdomen and trace it all the way up, or drag a finger through it and suck. but he'll have to settle for watching the heave of his chest, listen to the way his breathing is still audible between little gasps as the aftershocks work their way through him.
and this is where he'd agree. thank him for his time, send him another tip and then log off. all good things come to an end, and he's never had a reason to drag out his goodbyes. until -]
Always.
You were something else tonight, sweetheart.
[there's a hesitation, wondering if skippy will end it and get back to - whatever it is he does after these. it's late, christ, somehow having skipped just shy of midnight, which means he's gone well over his initial thirty minutes. losing track of time like that was much too easy to do. dangerous, again. he should just leave him to it, but...]
That was intense.
You alright, Skip?
[something tells him skippy will appreciate the extra care, the extended goodbye. and he'll definitely appreciate the second payment of $250 hawk is going to send over - except, he gets the sense it might cheapen the whole thing if he does it now. so he doesn't. not yet.]