[ jesus. the ‘not yet’ by itself has him envisioning what might happen later, after this conversation. he doesn’t believe felicity’s the type to bolt out the door immediately, though she might pick one up for the hell of it when she passes a shop as opposed to walking right on by the store. she guarantees that this is going to haunt him like a presence over his shoulder that he can’t shake off. an insistent fantasy, clawing at the corners of his mind. when he shuts his eyes, he can see her hair hanging loosely at her shoulders, her thighs spread, the soft little pants for air.
yes comes the reactive thought, narrowly restrained. he doesn’t only want to hear her moan, he wants to see it. see her head tossed back, the expanse of her throat, feel her pressed against him, around him. ]
I'm visualizing it now. [ she’s said his voice in a hundred different tones over the years. begging him? that’s. it’s everything oliver wants to discard, purge from his memory. he closes his hand around his phone, grips it tighter, smacks his head back into the wall above his bed. it stings but his pain threshold's too high for that to deter him. ] I bet you're wet, and hot, and perfect. Thinking about you sinking down on me, let alone coming for me, is easily the sexiest gift I've ever received.
[ he's wrong. he's ten thousand kinds of wrong and he realizes it the second her video appears in their message window. ]
Do you want to watch me?
[ he waits for an answer before he sends it off, though if she says yes, she's getting as much of an eyeful as he did. his jeans have been shucked off ( who knows when ) and his black boxers have been shoved down unceremoniously to his thighs, giving him the space to stroke his dick without any fabric hindering him. oliver starts off slow to give her something to watch and builds up to a faster pace, swipes his thumb over the crown of his dick, before dragging it back down with his index finger. he doesn't drag it out with felicity moaning his name ringing in his ears. he could but he also wants to do as she's asked because this is an order he can get behind. he focuses on the head of his dick with steady, shallow pumps. she can't see beyond his lap but the rapidness of his breathing, the flush on his throat, how he groans — he's about to come.
something like oh, felicity tumbles out and his orgasm hits hard.
( which means it's over and he definitely just made porn and sent it to her. )
but. yknow. his cheek's pressed to his shoulder and his phone's next to him and he's boneless in a good way, not ( yet ) paralyzed with the shit, that just happened vibes. ]
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Date: 2019-01-28 06:45 am (UTC)yes comes the reactive thought, narrowly restrained. he doesn’t only want to hear her moan, he wants to see it. see her head tossed back, the expanse of her throat, feel her pressed against him, around him. ]
I'm visualizing it now. [ she’s said his voice in a hundred different tones over the years. begging him? that’s. it’s everything oliver wants to discard, purge from his memory. he closes his hand around his phone, grips it tighter, smacks his head back into the wall above his bed. it stings but his pain threshold's too high for that to deter him. ] I bet you're wet, and hot, and perfect. Thinking about you sinking down on me, let alone coming for me, is easily the sexiest gift I've ever received.
[ he's wrong. he's ten thousand kinds of wrong and he realizes it the second her video appears in their message window. ]
Do you want to watch me?
[ he waits for an answer before he sends it off, though if she says yes, she's getting as much of an eyeful as he did. his jeans have been shucked off ( who knows when ) and his black boxers have been shoved down unceremoniously to his thighs, giving him the space to stroke his dick without any fabric hindering him. oliver starts off slow to give her something to watch and builds up to a faster pace, swipes his thumb over the crown of his dick, before dragging it back down with his index finger. he doesn't drag it out with felicity moaning his name ringing in his ears. he could but he also wants to do as she's asked because this is an order he can get behind. he focuses on the head of his dick with steady, shallow pumps. she can't see beyond his lap but the rapidness of his breathing, the flush on his throat, how he groans — he's about to come.
something like oh, felicity tumbles out and his orgasm hits hard.
( which means it's over and he definitely just made porn and sent it to her. )
but. yknow. his cheek's pressed to his shoulder and his phone's next to him and he's boneless in a good way, not ( yet ) paralyzed with the shit, that just happened vibes. ]