[ 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. ]
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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. ]