[there's a soft smile, private to himself at how goddamn precious bob is. as if he doesn't even have the wherewithal to consider something like manipulation or anything but the truth slipping honey-sweet out of his mouth.]
Takes one to know one. Christ - look at you. Lucky I'm not there, I don't think I'd be able to keep my hands to myself. You know what I wanna do right about now, Bob?
[a heavy sigh, like he's put upon by the distance suddenly, dreamily painting a picture for them both. the sound of slick spit in the receiver has him pulsing hot in his boxers, just about full to bursting now.]
I'd like to get my mouth on you. All those nice little dips and divots - like someone spent hours chiseling you fucking outta stone. Figure out what makes you squirm, which parts get you real worked up and loud.
[as an afterthought, hand reaching down to circle around his own cock and give it a nice long stroke.]
Don't hold back on me - by the way. No biting a pillow, no stifling any noises, you hear me?
[there's another ping, a photo of hawk with his boxers off now, a white undershirt still on, the barest hint of his jaw and the salt and pepper stubble that's cropped up on account of the lack of facilities.]
[ you know what i wanna do? he asks, like he has as many fantasies as bob does, brain running out ahead of his mouth. those definitely capable hands on him, that filthy-smart mouth working down his chest. pretty sure just about anything would get him going, get him loud, if hawk were the one doing it. maybe, as untouchable as he is, he’ll be more even sensitive now than he was before — aware of every sound and movement, tracking the beads of sweat at his nape, the tongue he imagines above his navel, or the scratch of stubble against skin. he grasps the base of his cock, squeezing, grounding before he strokes himself and groans into the mic. ]
Fuck, I wish you were touching me.
[ boxers shoved down. whine caught in his teeth as he thumbs over the head of cock, pearling with need. ]
Yessir. [ in the matter of stifling himself, which is fine — except he has a million stupid things to say. i run hot, i get wet, i’m never quiet. ] Won’t shut up until I get your dick in my mouth.
[ next time. please let there be a next time because this is already rewiring his goddamn brain, like that second encounter with embry. a relief to think of anything but what’s going on, to pretend to be anywhere but here.
on opening the photo, he curses under his breath. really, really hot and talking him through it, for some reason. right. ]
Yeah — Yeah, I am.
[ breathy as he adjusts, sheets rustling once more. he shoots the picture from his chest, angled down to catch his hard and glistening cock, still in his other hand, curved slightly toward his bent knee. ]
[there, out in the open, the confirmation for him that yes, this can be a repeat performance for the small price of taking it like a good boy and following hawk's instructions. so far so good - better, maybe, because it's taking the edge off all his fuckups this past week, reminding him that he's still got it and some people are more appreciative of it than others, namely this walking wet dream that looks like he's straight outta one of the skin mags hidden in his desk.
yessir gets his blood pumping and sends a low rumble vibrating against the speaker directly in bob's ear. there's some more shuffling, hawk finally kicking off his boxers and circling around his heavy cock, gripping the base and slapping it against his lower stomach like a goddamn dog whistle.]
You hear that? [another soft smack of it.]
That's what I got for you to take. And I bet you would - nice and deep. All the way to the back of your throat, and you'd swallow for me, huh? Like a good boy. Not a drop going to waste.
[hawk spits into his hand, making it audible to paint a picture without wasting the energy to send another one right now. there's a low hiss when it wraps around his own aching dick, stroking it firm and slow so he doesn't blow his load early.]
Christ, look at you, leaking all over yourself like that. You're a needy thing, aren't you Bobby? I think right now you need to take it nice and easy, stroking steady for me - twist up at the wrist when you get to the tip. Go on and spread it all over yourself, yeah?
[ that next time isn’t just a balm for his nerves, it’s something to look forward to. a calendar date beyond the deaths and votes and machinations. a date-date in the sense of intimacy, connection, not being so fucking alone in this hellhole. he looses another fuck at the sound of hawk through the line, at the thought of the obvious heft of his cock in his mouth. he figured hawk was the type to take the lead — based on the flirtation, the call — but bob hasn’t had time to imagine the specifics laid out before him now. a firm hand in his hair, holding him down until his thoughts finally splinter and scatter. (or working him open, getting him ready for a fucking he won’t be able to forget — ) ]
Not a drop. [ voice strained, at the thought of it. phantom salt on his tongue. he runs his other hand down his sternum, knuckles dragging heat trails down his skin. ] Wouldn’t stop until you told me to. [ since that reaction to his slurry deference has pointed him toward a button or two. the authority of it all. ]
[ he gives up on holding the fucking phone, even though the tinny speaker adds a layer of embarrassment. maybe it’s the illusion of exposure or the very real fact of being listened to intently. all slick sounds. obvious enough that hawk seems to twig the eager jack of his hand and prompts him to change his pace because of it. the arrow-tipped observation of his neediness has him stuttering, then whining as he slows down. ]
All wet for you. [ emphasis not quite in the right places, because it’s obviously working. a soft, punched sound with that twist of his wrist. breath quickening as he works himself over, easier than before. wet like hawk said. needy like hawk said. ] Needy for — for you, definitely. [ not in general, though maybe that’s true. ] There’s no way I’m gonna last with you talking like that.
[ when hawk is so good looking, so good at this, he keeps stepping outside himself to think oh my god. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Takes one to know one. Christ - look at you. Lucky I'm not there, I don't think I'd be able to keep my hands to myself. You know what I wanna do right about now, Bob?
[a heavy sigh, like he's put upon by the distance suddenly, dreamily painting a picture for them both. the sound of slick spit in the receiver has him pulsing hot in his boxers, just about full to bursting now.]
I'd like to get my mouth on you. All those nice little dips and divots - like someone spent hours chiseling you fucking outta stone. Figure out what makes you squirm, which parts get you real worked up and loud.
[as an afterthought, hand reaching down to circle around his own cock and give it a nice long stroke.]
Don't hold back on me - by the way. No biting a pillow, no stifling any noises, you hear me?
[there's another ping, a photo of hawk with his boxers off now, a white undershirt still on, the barest hint of his jaw and the salt and pepper stubble that's cropped up on account of the lack of facilities.]
Lemme see everything. You wet for me yet?
no subject
Fuck, I wish you were touching me.
[ boxers shoved down. whine caught in his teeth as he thumbs over the head of cock, pearling with need. ]
Yessir. [ in the matter of stifling himself, which is fine — except he has a million stupid things to say. i run hot, i get wet, i’m never quiet. ] Won’t shut up until I get your dick in my mouth.
[ next time. please let there be a next time because this is already rewiring his goddamn brain, like that second encounter with embry. a relief to think of anything but what’s going on, to pretend to be anywhere but here.
on opening the photo, he curses under his breath. really, really hot and talking him through it, for some reason. right. ]
Yeah — Yeah, I am.
[ breathy as he adjusts, sheets rustling once more. he shoots the picture from his chest, angled down to catch his hard and glistening cock, still in his other hand, curved slightly toward his bent knee. ]
no subject
[there, out in the open, the confirmation for him that yes, this can be a repeat performance for the small price of taking it like a good boy and following hawk's instructions. so far so good - better, maybe, because it's taking the edge off all his fuckups this past week, reminding him that he's still got it and some people are more appreciative of it than others, namely this walking wet dream that looks like he's straight outta one of the skin mags hidden in his desk.
yessir gets his blood pumping and sends a low rumble vibrating against the speaker directly in bob's ear. there's some more shuffling, hawk finally kicking off his boxers and circling around his heavy cock, gripping the base and slapping it against his lower stomach like a goddamn dog whistle.]
You hear that? [another soft smack of it.]
That's what I got for you to take. And I bet you would - nice and deep. All the way to the back of your throat, and you'd swallow for me, huh? Like a good boy. Not a drop going to waste.
[hawk spits into his hand, making it audible to paint a picture without wasting the energy to send another one right now. there's a low hiss when it wraps around his own aching dick, stroking it firm and slow so he doesn't blow his load early.]
Christ, look at you, leaking all over yourself like that. You're a needy thing, aren't you Bobby? I think right now you need to take it nice and easy, stroking steady for me - twist up at the wrist when you get to the tip. Go on and spread it all over yourself, yeah?
no subject
Not a drop. [ voice strained, at the thought of it. phantom salt on his tongue. he runs his other hand down his sternum, knuckles dragging heat trails down his skin. ] Wouldn’t stop until you told me to. [ since that reaction to his slurry deference has pointed him toward a button or two. the authority of it all. ]
[ he gives up on holding the fucking phone, even though the tinny speaker adds a layer of embarrassment. maybe it’s the illusion of exposure or the very real fact of being listened to intently. all slick sounds. obvious enough that hawk seems to twig the eager jack of his hand and prompts him to change his pace because of it. the arrow-tipped observation of his neediness has him stuttering, then whining as he slows down. ]
All wet for you. [ emphasis not quite in the right places, because it’s obviously working. a soft, punched sound with that twist of his wrist. breath quickening as he works himself over, easier than before. wet like hawk said. needy like hawk said. ] Needy for — for you, definitely. [ not in general, though maybe that’s true. ] There’s no way I’m gonna last with you talking like that.
[ when hawk is so good looking, so good at this, he keeps stepping outside himself to think oh my god. ]