[she supposes she could invest in some, possibly use them in her very shallow sex life. She's just never really needed them before and she doesn't need them now. instead, she's thinking again about a video and what she'd do with toys if she had them. what she'd show him. how she'd bring him into the conversation even further if she had something that even slightly resembled his fingers or his cock.
but he's right about one thing - she is truly one-hundred percent into him and reading his texts is bad enough.]
Do you want to hear me moan for you? Whimper your name as I beg to come? I do, just so you know. Can you picture that? [she can't resist telling him everything.] When you're inside me and we're on the edge and you tell me to come for you, I know just how to sigh your name so you come with me.
[she remembers all of it and while she's this close to that orgasm, she wants to deny herself as long as she can. the need to come out on top of whatever sexual game of chicken they're playing is strong; she wants him to know she's heard him and felt him in that moment. she knows how he sounds, too, and she bites her lip before deciding the hell with it and doing the unthinkable.
filming herself through her orgasm from the waist down, moaning his name as she comes, breathlessly telling him to come with her, she waits. contemplating the repercussions, she hits send and the video arrives two minutes after her last text, probably about the time he's composing his next one.
[ 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. ]
[what he sends her is not new, exactly. he's put on that kind of show for her before, but this? this is so intensely private given the obstacles they've been presented that felicity feels almost unworthy of what she's being shown. it doesn't stop her from watching it from start to finish, the sound of her name falling from his lips arousing as always. she rewinds it enough to watch the end again, the visual of his orgasm spilling over his hand as he comes something that hits her hard and she waits a moment before composing herself and a response.]
sorry I wasn't there to ride it out of you.
[which is a lot different than, hey, thanks. that was awesome. she's not deleting it any time soon, not unless he specifically asks.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[she supposes she could invest in some, possibly use them in her very shallow sex life. She's just never really needed them before and she doesn't need them now. instead, she's thinking again about a video and what she'd do with toys if she had them. what she'd show him. how she'd bring him into the conversation even further if she had something that even slightly resembled his fingers or his cock.
but he's right about one thing - she is truly one-hundred percent into him and reading his texts is bad enough.]
Do you want to hear me moan for you? Whimper your name as I beg to come? I do, just so you know. Can you picture that? [she can't resist telling him everything.] When you're inside me and we're on the edge and you tell me to come for you, I know just how to sigh your name so you come with me.
[she remembers all of it and while she's this close to that orgasm, she wants to deny herself as long as she can. the need to come out on top of whatever sexual game of chicken they're playing is strong; she wants him to know she's heard him and felt him in that moment. she knows how he sounds, too, and she bites her lip before deciding the hell with it and doing the unthinkable.
filming herself through her orgasm from the waist down, moaning his name as she comes, breathlessly telling him to come with her, she waits. contemplating the repercussions, she hits send and the video arrives two minutes after her last text, probably about the time he's composing his next one.
she doesn't need toys.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
sorry I wasn't there to ride it out of you.
[which is a lot different than, hey, thanks. that was awesome. she's not deleting it any time soon, not unless he specifically asks.]
Maybe next time.