Characters: Henry Cavill x 3rd person female reader (the reader in this story has been described as someone with long brown hair, hazel eyes and not very tall)
Authorâs note: Thank you @radaofriviaâ for your guidance and your help <3
Go read her stories right here: Radaâs masterlist
Sentences in square brackets are Kalâs thoughts. Sentences in italics are Henryâs thoughts.
I do not own any characters in this short story, except the reader who is a figment of my imagination.
MASTERLIST
Feedback is appreciated.
It was a lovely day. The sun was shining brightly in the clear blue sky. Not a cloud present. The birds were chirping in the trees, and people were chatting away around him.
ALSO @unicornbitchface that could be totally youâŚthe ladyâs dogâs description is very similar to Hazelâs đ¤ the moment I read sheâs a diva I went âahhhhh I know one!â
I've been struggling with my mental health for a long while now and some recent developments haven't helped me any. I have taken a few steps, and as much as I hate to do it, I've blocked people who have either been mean/complicit in being mean to me and my friends.
I literally just now posted about how much I hate block culture and honestly I feel like I have been tolerant for so long. Why did I not do this sooner?
Anyway *sigh* smh. I also just said that if that's what helps you by all means go ahead and use the block button. I am one of those people who live by what they say. I'll try my best not to go back and check if I'm being vaguebooked. You've been blocked and content has been filtered âđź
There's so much I can say about how this works wonders on my anxiety but then I'll be accused of victimising myself. Hard pass on that. Real life is draining as it is (surprise! I have a life outside of here, which, by the way, is thriving and needs my time, energy and attention) my own insecurities and emotions stop me from doing more of what I love, I'm short on time and hella busy, I DON'T HAVE IT IN ME TO INVITE MORE DRAMA AND NEGATIVITY, THAT'S NOT WHAT I'M HERE FOR!
I won't let the fear of losing what I had stop me from looking forward to what I will have in the future. That's a big lesson I'm still learning.
I should have known better than to think this fandom is awesome. Better than some, but it has its unsavory eggs. My only fear is that I don't want to project my resentment on Henry and start hating him :(
I have never cared about notes here. I love writing and I post for the heck of it, for the joy I derive from the whole creative process. Made some friends worth keeping and I'm so grateful for that.
I'm so happy I'm going into the new year without the trash.
As for writing, I'll get back into it in my own time, but get back to it I will.
Your respective mothers usher every one in the door, doing their best to smooth over the events. Henryâs face has been tinged a bright shade of red since he saw your father glaring at him. Your cheeks so hot, you're certain you could finish cooking dinner on them.
After awkwardly attempting to talk to your dad, you step out of the dining room where everyone else is setting up the table. You have seen Henry since he tried to help, only to have the plate snatched away by your dad.
Walking softly into the living room, you find Henry sitting on the plush navy blue couch, the Christmas tree lights glittering over his face. His legs are spread wide, arms flung behind his head, his eyes closed.
You plop down beside him, resting your head back. "He won't look at me, im his baby Henry", you whine quietly, the chattering of your families floating in from the other room.
He sighs, "Im sorry princess", regret tinging his voice.
You open your eyes when you feel something hit your lap. A bar of your favorite chocolate, you smile over at him. "Love you", you whisper kissing his still flushed cheek.
He places his arm around your shoulder, his hand rubbing your arm as you unwrap the bar. You shove the entire thing in your mouth, chewing contentedly before laying your head on his lap.
You turn your head up but are abruptly pulled back when your hair gets caught in his zipper. The sudden jerk causes the you to choke on some of the chocolate.
--
Your dad decides to go look for you. He can pretend that none of this happened. Its Henry's fault anyway.
You're his favorite and his angel.
He steps into the doorway of the living room, spotting the back of Henry's head.
"Princess, how many times do I have to tell you not to put it all in your mouth, you know its too big for you to handle"
Your dad sees the very top of your head bob up and down before Henry places his hand on your head, "Swallow first then you can get up"
Hereâs to the fanfic writers who can only write sporadically.
Hereâs the writers who canât output enough to keep up with the most popular writers.
Hereâs to the writers writing even though they get no feedback.
Hereâs to the writers who somehow manage to scrape together a little inspiration and a lot of hard work to write that story they know nearly no one will read.
Hereâs to the creators who keep going even when itâ feels like screaming into an empty void.
Youâre inspiration, and I donât know how you do it.
NO CHEATING: Youâre starring in a movie with the last person saved in your camera roll and the last song you listened to is the title. Who/what is it?
I donât ever save photos of people on my phone; but I do sometimes, on my laptop; so thats what I used. (this was my last account photo; and it was the last image of a person I saved)
The last song I had playing, was this:
Sooo, a love story?? Iâm here for that lmao
@gaitwaeââ, @trashywritestrashââ, @thranduilsperkybuttââ, @bwemphââ - if you want too!; and anyone else who wants to lol.
@dangerouslovefanfic @blurredlyrics @fivefootxo @liquorlaughslove @hardcorewwetrash @superrezzy00 @mind-of-tavia @bellaamor88 @drew-is-boo @afriendlyblackhottie and anyone else i may be blanking on rn or who wants to do it(sorryđ)
Someone probably already said it, but this dude ,yeah, edited this whole video, came to the part where he looks like he's fondeling himself (which he knows, his reaction shows it) and thought to himself:
Yeah, that'll stay...they're gonna go batshit crazy when they see that..
And then proceeded to put Porn music over it...I- I mean, he could have easily cut it out? Like many others probably would have?
And he probably looked it over multiple times, to be sure only what he wants us to see is on there.
Henry Cavill wants us to know what he looks like jacking of.
Summary:Â Youâve got yourself into a perilous situation with both Walter and August. Now the question is: which punishment will you choose.
Pairing:Â August Walker x Reader x Walter Marshall
Word count:Â 874
Warnings:Â 18+, smut, threesome, unprotected sexual intercourse, MaleDom/FemSub dynamics, cockwarming, voyeurism, orgasm denial, language, teasing, male masturbation, praise kink, degradation kink, mind games, facial, depiction of bodily fluids, mentions of double penetration and anal.Â
A/N: No Soft!August today. And this is the most sinful thing Iâve ever written, so see yâall in hell. Prompted by my beautiful beta @agniavateira and dedicated as a gift to her. Now excuse me, Satan is waiting. Â
If you enjoyed, please give feedback and reblog =).
Okay to all my writer peeps, I was struck by this question and I am curiousâŚ.
What is your favorite thing to research?
What is that one thing you will go down the rabbit hole to figure out for a story? That one thing you might sneak a scene in just so you can research a bit.
For me, it is restaurant menus. I LOVE reading restaurant menus, looking for restaurants, writing eating scenes. I am a vicarious foodie. Â
So what is yours? Share and tagging some of my writing peeps, but anyone can reblog and share!
Oooo that is an interesting question đ¤đ¤I think I like researching aesthetics and interiors, outfits and such and try to incorporate them in my writing! Iâm almost never successful tho. Lol!
Mine is def interior design/ settings and fashion. I have Pinterest boards of different scenery that I have used or want to use in my writing, same goes for clothes. Sometimes I spend more time doing that than actually writing đ
Tagging: @vennilavee @ourquicksilvered @rasberrylemon @sapphirescrolls @bucky-the-thigh-slayer and whoever wants to do it!
When Iâm working on a fanfic story Iâm usually researching places, or looking for picture to use in a mood board to get my imagination flowing. But when Iâm working on my original stuff I get lost in the distances between stars, what it takes to get there, how the ship looks and works- all that so I know how I too muck up plans for a story to write about lol. I can spend hours researching space travel, colonization, the structures of civilizations. I love it so much lol.
What derives my writing is creating atmosphere, so I go strong into creating moodboard on Pinterest, researching places and scents. Scent is a recurring theme in my stories and I think it helps me establish the location. I also enjoy researching medical stuff, specifically of injuries đ
You know whatâs funny? I donât think I have a specific theme I like to research for my stories. It really depends on the theme of the story (I really enjoyed the deep dive into mythology and fertility rites recently). Iâm not really a moodboard or music person for the stories. The ideas usually hit and I talk to out with someone a lot of the time. I guess the closest would be looking up words for titles. I enjoy the deeper meanings behind words and like when I hit on a title that has a double meaning or something.
Tagging: @geralt-of-baevia @viking-raider @foodieforthoughts @henrythickcavill @anika-ann @buckysgoldenheart @crimsonrae @achaoticaugust @ao719 @zaffrenotes @storyofmychoices @plumeriavibes and anyone else who wants to play along
It really depends on what Iâm writing. For The Belle and the Beast itâs been Herbs and their uses and medicinal properties. But, other than that, itâs just trying to learn as much about the setting of my story and where I want it to go, that I start getting lost in.
I research everything from the temperature, architecture, key places, language of the residents of the place where my fic is going to be based, when I am writing about subjects that I didnât have a lot of knowledge about (like US military and Iraq War for Sand and Stars) I research the hell out of it. I like to have a fair idea of the things I want to include in my fic and I keep on going back to Google to find out the accuracy of my text and Pinterest always helps for inspiration.
No Pressure Tagging: @thelastsock @thetaoofzoe @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @angrythingstarlight @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @luclittlepond @raspberrydreamclouds @hlkwrites @agniavateira @crimsonrae and anyone else that wants to add â¨
Thank you for the tag @littlefreya, @the-soot-sprite, and @foodieforthoughts
This is a tough one - it depends on my story. Iâm so curious about everything that falling down the rabbit hole is something that happens pretty frequentlyâŚabout anything really. Moods are a big theme in my writings - feelings that are spurned by conversations, imagery, scents, and sounds.Â
Iâll spend hours thinking of scenes that I think would be interesting, but how to convey that emotion usually leads my to reading poems, listening to music, and reading other works of fiction. I look at word choices and how theyâve been strung together and how they evoke emotion in meâŚWhat is it about this sentence that drew me in? What is it about this word that makes meâŚ? Then I take those answers and pull together what I hope are images and emotions that relatable and realistic. Hopefully, this made sense.
No pressure Tag: @thelastsock @meowpurrbooks @ladyreapermc @rmtndew @feralrunaway @dancingwendigo and anyone else who wants to share.
Ohhhhh, I love the inspiration portion. When scene after scene starts pouring into my head and Iâm like âOOOOOO, that would be amazing!â and then I start acting out some of the scenes to come up with dialogue and see if itâs worth it to turn into a fic. đ
Tagging @littlefreya @wondersofdreaming @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @achaoticaugust and anyone else who wants it⌠if youâve done it already, just ignore me!
Thanks for tagging me @littlefreya, @viking-raider and @dancingwendigo <3
For me, I research locations, atmosphere, culture, food, language. I am a linguist nerd, so if I find a specific word that catches my interest, I will use it! For example âPogonotrophyâ, or it can be a sentence/phrase/quote/poem/proverb. I use my imagination a lot, and I get a lot of help from the lovely @radaofrivia <3Â
Thank you for tagging me angelâ¤ď¸ @wondersofdreaming. The feeling is mutual since I get a lot of inspiration and ideas from you.
Letâs not forget that you are Hollyâs godmother (I would have never thought of it) for my Christmas August Walker story.
The first thing I always research before writing a story is music, since I canât write without it. I need music to set the atmosphere and get in touch with the feelings I want to convey through my writing. A good playlist works as a mood board for me.
@wondersofdreaming always comes up with some great tips for that!
Iâm driven by my imagination. So an image could inspire something (like one that recently did) or sometimes I look at all the GIFs that already exist and a story idea starts to form. For example: for my story âhelp me help youâ I saw the GIF of Henry at the stove cooking and a particular crime was making headlines at the same time and my brain just went: concerned husband Henry. Go!
Continuing the same example to make it clear rather than being vague about how I go about researching then: so then I thought, âok I want to explore self defence techniques which can be easily taughtâ so I saw a few videos on YouTube and found one which seemed very practical to me and in fact, I used the instructions and steps from that video in the story itself.
As far as favourite things to research go thereâs nothing constant because every fic is unique so I never know what will come up as a potential topic for research. I am a stickler for perfection so I Google even the things Iâm confident about, just to confirm that Iâm not misrepresenting something big time. Hence I fall into a rabbit hole many, many times hehe. Sometimes I Google synonyms just to see if I can make the prose more interesting.
No pressure tagging: @lunedelorient @connieisland @unicornbitchface @emyearns @thatdamncutegirl since most everyone else I would have loved to tag has either already been tagged/done it.
Well, my research depends on the kind of post I wanna add. If it's a snippet, I derive inspiration from the mood of the GIF. In that case, I search for a GIF that I think could convey the bits and then build on to it.
And for fics, man I really like to dive into the era of my characters, especially love researching historical settings! Even then, my go to is to try and find any anomaly of the era and then embody it into my fics.
I'm lucky to be an Indian because our history is so fucking rich! You can think of all sorts of trope possibilities and it would have happened in our past!
You want warrior Queens? Check.
You want inter faith stories? Check.
You want female spy stories? Check.
You want spiritual stories? Check.
You want quirks? Check them too!
I absolutely love diving into it.
Another way to research is experience. Either mine or someone around me. I take what it made me/other feel in that scenario and see if it might be what my character would feel in her life as well.
Ultimately, it's a culmination of flavours. â¤ď¸
Ps: everyone more or less has been tagged, if I find anyone left, I shall update the post.
This is a long one, so Iâll split it up into three parts. The Walker possession fic that nobody asked for but is happening anyway.
A Possession, part one: Convergence. August Walker x Henry Cavill. Warnings for the entire fic: possession, dubcon (possession-related; our hero never asked for this), mentions of past torture (prior to story events), some degradation, praise kink. Roughly 6k words altogether. Section heading titles largely pulled from whatever music I was listening to at the time.
He doesnât die, not quite. He finds something better.
Itâs like this. You tried sitting on your hand once til it was numb, so that when you closed your hand around yourself it would seem like it belonged to someone else.
A face at the glass. The sensation of falling, of oil under your skin. Sharp pinpricks in every pore, a headache that threatened to split you in two. Stillness, for a moment. Then
Wake up.
Nobody there.
Wake up.
You push up on your elbows, look around. Everything looks the same as always. Youâre alone, as always. Even Kal is asleep in the other room, and anyway if heâs started talking then youâve got more problems than you thought.
Get up. Isnât there a mirror?
There is, on the wall above the dresser. You rake your hands through your hair, making your bedhead even more pronounced. It feels good, so you do it again, tugging a little on your curls. And again, scraping one hand down through your stubble, over your jaw and down your neck. Press just a little.
We look good.
What?
Pay attention. I know you wonât want to miss this.
Itâs like this. Your hand is your hand is not your hand. The calluses are the same, the thick fingers are the same, but thereâs static fuzzing the signal somewhere between brain and hand. You surprise yourself with the way you scrape your fingers down your chest, with the way you dig those fingers into the skin of your belly, nails raising red welts.
Hm, you really like that, donât you? Look at you.
And yeah, itâs a little surprising, watching the blood pulse into your cock like that, watching it twitch and jump, but it is morning and you were dreamingâ
Dreaming about what? Tell me. Give me your secrets. Was it something like
Your hand closes around your cock, stroking dry once, twice, before pulling away and you whine, you whine and want to touch again, itâs like your hand is your hand is not your hand and you grip the edge of the dresser, breathing just a little harder than you should.
like this?
And you open your mouth, shove the first two fingers of your right hand inside. Suck. Get them wet for me. What? Youâre not sure where this is coming from but oh thereâs a line of fire running down from your fingers to your cock and itâs so so so
Good. Thatâs a good boy.
Oh fuck. Your left hand slips off the edge of the dresser. You catch yourself on your forearm and thatâs going to be a bruise for sure. And now, bent over like this, itâs just so easy to reach back behind yourself with your right hand, feel your fingers stroking cool and wet down the cleft of your ass. Feel the muscle of your hole twitch, just a little. But itâs notâ
Not gonna work. Where do you keep the lube? Fucking tell me we have lube.
You do, and itâs right here, regular fucking boy scout arenât you; you squeeze it sloppy onto your fingers and kick your legs farther apart, getting into position like youâre presenting your ass for, for what?
For me. Now, get your fingers inside yourself. You know how I like it.
Yeah, just a little too fast, a little too hard. You breach your entrance with one fingertip and itâs like fire; your head jerks up like someoneâs grabbed you by the hair and there you are in the mirror, eyes just a little too bright, eyes on me, thatâs good, oh you good boy. Look at you.
One finger becomes two becomes three, slopping more lube onto your hand like itâs going out of style, and the stretch, the burn of it has you gasping voiceless, breath fogging the mirror as you try to lean forward and reach back at once, as your strange tv-static fingers search for the spot that makes your vision white out.
There. Just like that. Oh youâre so greedy, arenât you. Youâd take my whole fist if I wanted, youâd take it and youâd like it.
Fuck, yes, god you canât breathe, canât think, because youâre hitting that spot with every press of your hand now, you could swear you feel fingers gripping at your hair, raking down your chest, closing around you and itâs impossible, impossible, itâs
Me. Come for me, now, thatâs it. Donât look away.
And oh, fuck, thatâs all it takes until youâre coming hard, so hard it drives you to your knees, right hand wrenching free and you think maybe youâre dying. Is this what dying feels like?
Obviously not. Now get up. Get dressed. We have such a busy day ahead.
â-
Blinking lights and revelations
â-
He makes you lick your own semen off the dresser. Well, he doesnât make you exactly; you have the sense that heâs more a passenger than anything, but fuck if it doesnât get you going anyway. He says clean up after yourself in that weird way thatâs like talking but not, like heâs right inside your brain (am I not? What do you think is happening here, boy?) And that weird static feel is ghosting down your spine, nerves firing in a fingertip pattern. So you lick at the wood and fist your cock which is somehow, impossibly, hard again already. Until
No.
âNo?â
Drop it. I will tell you when you can touch yourself.
Thereâs that static again, bursting down your spine to your arm your hand your fingers. Your hand drops open and you breathe hard, pained, every nerve firing at once.
Maybe not just a passenger after all. Thereâs a rich warm sensation, curling under the skin behind your ear. Try again, pet. See where it gets you.
âWho even are you? Why is this happening, I donât understand.â
You donât have to understand. You just have to deal with it.
âBut whoââ
You donât know? Even though we fit so well? I think maybe you do know, and youâre scared.
Heâs not wrong.
Of course Iâm not.
You dress, let Kal out and back in. He looks at you skeptically before disappearing to wherever he goes when heâs not lounging at your feet. You get out egg whites and chicken breast for breakfast which somehow becomes bacon and eggs and those weird American biscuits that are like scones except not. You certainly donât know how to make them, and yet there they are being formed under your hands. You watch a little, feeling your mind disconnect from your body a bit. Static again.
Your body is a tool. You have to take care of it. And if you donât, then I will. Now drink.
The water is halfway to your lips before you realize you canât remember pouring it. The glass drops from your suddenly nerveless fingers.
Well, clean it up. And get another glass. Christ, weâre thirsty. What have you been doing to yourself?
You eat your ridiculous breakfast and drink your water, and you hate it but heâs right. You do feel better. You could almost forget what has turned out to be the weirdest morning of your life so far.
You flex your fingers, roll the stiffness out of your spine and
Oh, fuck. That feels good. Do it again.
What? You go through the motions in reverse, stretching your spine til it pops, shaking out your fingers, flexing them against the opposite palm until you feel yeah the coil of pleasure in your gut. And oh that drops a thought like ice into your veins. A little detail you thought up during one of those never-ending script rewrites, something youâd never shared and had in fact put out of your mind because it was so ridiculous. His hands hurt. They always hurt.
Walker.
This is ridiculous. Itâs completely insane, completely impossible, and yet
And yet here we are. Funny, so I exist here too?
âYouâre just a character. A figment. You arenât real.â
Not real, huh? I saw how hard you came with our fingers in your ass.
And oh how your cheeks burn at that. You can still feel echoes of that stretch, that soreness that lingers.
âBut if youâre here, thenââ
uh-uh. You start to feel that static creeping down your spineâagain?âcome on, thereâs a good boy.
âHonestly? I donât think I can.â
You can. You think I donât feel it? That ache, that burn, that little bit too much? Think I canât feel what makes you weak?
âYouâre deflecting.â
And itâs working.
Fuck, heâs right. You hate that he seems to know you as much as you know him. Youâre frantically scrabbling through your memories, trying to pull up your sense of Walker-the-character but itâs been two years. Still, you reach bits and pieces, his confidence, his almost aggressive masculinity, his betrayal.
A burst of static drops you to your knees. It hurts him. This little bit of backstory youâd pulled out of your ass to try and keep Walker consistent in your mind when the script changed every damn day. It hurts him and you take it back, you take it back.
âIâm sorry. I didnât, I didnât know.â
â-
âI got a hunger and I canât seem to get fullâ
âBright Eyes
â-
You prod at him like a bruise, a wound, a scab you pull off before itâs healed so you can see, just for a moment, the raw wet flesh before blood comes rushing in, feel the flare of pain as the last of the scab lifts away.
Knock it off.
âCome on. Please. I didnât know, how could I? I didnât even think you were real. If Iâd known, I wouldnâtâ Shit. This isnât coming out right. Look, if something like that happened to me I wouldnât want someone digging it up either.â
Something like that.
Something like that? Something like
Static bursting in your head again, loud and overwhelming, the signal lost and all you can do is writhe, all you can do is crawl as it takes you under. Because
The lights are bright, so bright, and the blood roars in your ears as they tie your wrists down tight, as they pull off your nails one by one. As they break your hands lovingly, bone by bone by bone. As they leave you to lie on the floor, gasping through tears and snot, clutching your hands to your chest.
And that was an easy day.
Jesus. The static fades, receding back up into your spine as you lie there gasping, trying to push down the memory because thatâs what it was, wasnât it. Not backstory, not theory, and oh your hands ache with it. So you rub them, thumbs pressing between bones, until the feeling recedes, until you feel a little spreading warmth work its way up your arms.
âI donât know what to say.â
Donât.
âIââ
Not happening. Now you know and thatâs the end of it. Worry about it on your own time. With anyone else, youâd bring them something to drink, sit close enough that they could lean into you if they wanted. Give them space while offering up your own. Even knowing what kind of man he is, what heâs done, heâs still hurting and you always were taught to help those in need. But here you are more intimately connected than youâve ever been with anyone before, with Walker so deep inside you, and thereâs nothing you can do for him.
Phrasing, boy. Amusement, warm at the back of your neck. Besides, if I was inside you, I doubt youâd have the space to think about it. You feel that static again, radiating out from your spine. It curls around your hips, wraps around your inner thighs. Itâs gentle, effervescent. And god help you, but you want more of it.
âDeflecting again?â
Obviously. Now shut up and let me take care of us. Itâs nearly soporific, the way he curls around your mind. You can feel him picking at the seams of your worries, brushing them away and leaving an emptiness behind. Let me do this, Iâll make it good.
Youâve thought about it, havenât you. Thought about the way Walker would fuck. You always do, when youâre feeling out a new character. After all, itâs the closest you can get to another person, the most honest and intimate you can possibly be with someone.
Almost, anyway.
Charles Brandon? Up for nearly anything, anywhere, with anyone. Likes to surprise his partners with a silk bow around his cock. Has a scar in his left armpit from a knifeplay experiment that nearly went very wrong.
Clark Kent? Gives and gives and gives. Always holds himself back, likes it out in the cornfields where he can smell the warm earth. His first orgasm blew out every window in a three-mile radius.
Napoleon Solo? Oh, you donât really like to think about that one. Heâs tried just about everything and enjoyed almost none of it. Would really like to be tied down and petted until he falls asleep, but doesnât know how to ask for it.
And August Walker?
Come on. Tell me how I like it.
âYou, oh Christ this is embarrassing.â
Mmm, is it? I can feel it, you know. You canât hide from me, not really. Now be a good boy and tell me. I want to hear it from you.
âYouâoh hell. You like to leave marks, alright? Cuts, bruises, it doesnât matter. You just want them to look at themselves after and be reminded of you. You always make it good for them, itâs a point of pride I guess. But you never let go, so youâre never really satisfied.â
Clever. Go on. How do I touch them? I want you to show me.
â-
âAnd who is to say what flesh should do, and who is to have it for that use?â
âBuilt to Spill
â-
Itâs like this. Your hand is your hand is our hand. Show me.
âIâ I donât even know where to start.â
Same as anything. You start at the beginning. Here, Iâll even make it easy for you.
Thereâs that creeping, bubbly feeling again but this time itâs crawling up the side of your neck. You follow it with your fingers and yes, good, definitely the right choice. Press your fingers to your lips, try again, move your hand to your hair and tug. There you go. Show me your throat. You can picture him, canât you, drawing your head back with a grip just the wrong side of too hard. Can feel him nosing at the point of your jaw, biting over your Adamâs apple.
âHow in the fuck?â
Your nerves are my nerves. Keep touching. Mmm, yeah, like that. Thatâs your carotid artery, can you feel the blood pumping? Not too much now, follow the blood down.
And yeah, yeah you can feel your artery pulsing as you press into it with your index finger, hold it long enough to feel that thrumming in your skull, but
Not today.
Fuck but itâs good, itâs so good, hold it long enough and you could drop to the carpet, starve your brain of blood a little and you could
Donât.
That static again, sharper this time. Driving your hand down, unbuttoning your shirt with one clumsy hand. Itâs like youâve never undressed yourself before. And it hurts, somehow, little prickles of pain at your fingertips with every button. But that creeping static is curling under your shirt as you work, running blunt little tendrils down your chest and circling your nipples until they pebble hard, until your hips make the tiniest movement, seeking any kind of friction you can get, until you open your pants and get yourself out in the open air. Until
âWhat the fuck?â
You can feel a hand on your cock, sure and strong, but it canât be yours because by this point youâve got one hand playing with your tits and the other wrenching your head back by the hair. And you try to speak but the angle of your throat crushes the words, rasps them out weak and strangled.
âOh, thatâs good.â Your voice is doubled, echoing on itself, flat American accent chasing your own. His words are hot in your throat and you canât tell if itâs actually good or not; itâs like being in a hall of mirrors and not knowing which way is out and which way will break your nose against the glass. Heâs like fire in your throat, under your skin, everywhere.
Fuck, youâve got that tightening coil in your gut and this might be it, might be the first time youâve ever come untouched
Untouched? Really? Iâm insulted.
And then you feel it. That hot white spark inside, the one youâve only sometimes managed to hit with fingers and a careful angle, the spark that makes your balls draw up tight and your cock pulse even as something just barely holds you back from the edge. Whatever it is, itâs
âChrist. Iâ what is that? How are youâ?â Youâre wound tight, so tight. All it would take is the smallest push; youâre so hard youâre sweating and your nails are tearing at your chest, at your scalp, everywhere except where you most need your hands to be. And when you feel the first tears start to prick at your eyes, you hear him.
Hey. He soundsâ stretched, somehow. You ever come so hard you see God? And with a flare of fire deep inside, you do. You come harder than you ever have in your life, and itâs the last thing you know for a long, long while.
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