moruseitaiâ
{ Smut Meme - 11: Masturbating in front of them. }
Trip could feel the weight of Virusâ eyes on him, it sat heavy and dark as the dusting over his own cheeks, not from shame, Trip possessed no such thing, but from the heat that threatened to suffocate him as his own brisk fingers worked over his length.
He entirely wasnât sure how heâd ended up in this position, resting his back against Virusâ couch, hips rising to his own touch at the mere thought of the other watching him. Trip had never considered himself much of an exhibitionist, not until tonight that is. Heâd accepted a drink in celebration over their mission having been successfully completed, and through a casual exchange of polite words, heâd found himself enthralled by the way Virusâ eyes had danced along his features. Itâd been so subtle he almost didnât act on it, almost didnât knock his glass over to surge over to the other male, lithe fingers moving upward to stop him. Rejection, itâs what Trip had come to understand such an action meant, but it didnât deter him from desperately searching for some kind of intimacy, offering all he could think of as he tried to chase the look heâd received prior to it.
The rest would become history between them, forgotten in a dazed flurry of half-drunken pleas and words, to which Virus simply sat back and allowed. The only words offered had been âWhy not?â.
His fist worked over himself, pumping as his cock sat painfully hard and heavy against his palm, eyes glued to the other, resolute and refusing to tilt his head back. There was familiarity in Virusâ eyes and he pursued it with clear determination as his lips part for a second before twitching into a lop-sided smile, bold and daring, as though coaxing him to do something, say something.
Itâs not necessary, though. Heâd been going long and steady this entire time, a mess of mutters and groans that dissipated into moans and bubbled up his throat, then spilled past his lips. His eyes never leave him, never release the tension held between the look they shared, and with every sip of wine Virus took, Trip could see his resolve snapping, if only in the form of eyebrow and lip twitches. Whether heâs right or not, itâs enough for him, it drives him to squeeze and tug, quickening his pace until it becomes relentless and pained, a strained grunt rising from his throat as his thumb swipes over his tip, pressing against the underside of his head and smearing the pre cum that collected there.
  âPerverted fuck.â
Is all he offers, though the comment feels like itâd directed at himself rather than Virus. He feels his hips rise once again, his free hand moving up to brush his bangs up and away from his eyes, groaning and grinding up against his fist as he urges himself to speed up, nearly whining at his own motions when his orgasm hits him hard and fast. Itâs unapologetic and ruthless, and it has him coating his hand and loose button down shirt, the only article of clothing that had remained through this. Heâs quiet, but only because he forces himself to be, unnatural hues trained on his partner as his strokes continue despite having just thoroughly messed himself up, dick still hard and playfully so.
Tripâs lips curl and his eyes narrow as his tongue traces over them, tasting himself from a drop that had managed to reach higher than the rest as his hand presses his swollen length against his stomach, showing it off to Virus with a raise of his eyebrow.
  âCongrats on bringing down that organisation, Vi.â
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