It’s not a compulsion, as such, just a thought – a thought that has his fingers clenching in the rough material of his duvet and his eyes fluttering shut to relive the moment a thousand times.
Tim against the wall, eyes wide and puzzled, fingers scrabbling against the rough stone.
Tim’s breath hot against his palm, briefly puzzled but then quickly relaxed as soon as he saw who exactly was holding him.
Tim hot and naked underneath him. Nails clawing at his shoulders, groans hot and uncontainable, thigh strong as they spin around and he ends up pressed against the wall with Tim’s teeth slick in his neck-
…Okay, so the last one isn’t true.
But that doesn’t stop him from thinking about it. As his fingers clench again, in the rough material of the duvet before slipping inevitably underneath.
-
It does, however, become a bit of a obsession - and he’s willing to admit that only because truth telling is so very unfashionable in this fly-haunted carcass that they call society.
“And then my boss threw the gun, the actual gun, right at-“ Tim pauses, in the middle of his storytelling session in the back room, frowns at his probably glazed eyes and raises a slow hand to indulge in a bit of useless waving “…Chris? Chris? Are you alright or-?”
He blinks himself, with some speed, from the vision of Tim’s hands clenching in his hair and Tim’s cock sliding slickly into his mouth.
…Smiles, so innocently that even a casual acquaintance would be fooled for a few minutes, “just thinking about something funny I heard the other day. Go on with your pointless tale, then.”
It’s a blessing, really a blessing, that Tim is sweet enough to only briefly blink and then slowly carry on.
-
He starts idling about it at odd moments, dreaming about it even when he’s not free to ease the covers down around his hips and take his cock in hand with Tim’s eyes swimming before his face.
“Um… Mr. Frowny face?” A slightly worried looking old woman asks one morning, as he spaces out at the counter, the image of Tim sliding a slick finger within him enough to drive most coherent thoughts from his head.
“What are you looking at?” Marcus sniffs scornfully one day, as he’s briefly lost in musings of how Tim’s groans would sound and how Tim’s throat would move while he was making them.
“Chris!” Tim himself yells despairingly one movie night, as he takes a long moment to imagine the feeling of stone against naked flesh and naked Tim against that stone.
…Odd moments.
He can hardly mind, as he smilingly excuses himself and walks into the storage room or Tim’s bathroom or even his bedroom and brings himself off at achingly fast speed with a certain constantly despairing face hovering attractively before his, he will admit, slightly glazed eyes.
-
It would be odd, perhaps, to discover such lust for your best friend out of the blue – but then he’s always suspected that this was going to be the end result.
He usually likes girls, yes, but to put a label to something so usually insignificant would be quite incredibly stupid. He knew the moment that he first saw Tim, seven years ago and with slightly more optimistic eyes, that he would eventually end up wanting the man groaning beneath him… Or on besides him, or on top of him with his wrists pinned high above his head.
…He’s getting distracted again.
But, no, he’s always expected this to happen. And that’s why, on the one month anniversary of dreaming about Tim’s cock hard in his hand, he snaps open his eyes in the narrow prison cell and decides that he needs a plan.
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timeasmymeasure
FILL: A Growing Situation, Chris/Tim, NC-17 [1A/2]
Date: 2011-10-29 03:20 pm (UTC)Tim against the wall, eyes wide and puzzled, fingers scrabbling against the rough stone.
Tim’s breath hot against his palm, briefly puzzled but then quickly relaxed as soon as he saw who exactly was holding him.
Tim hot and naked underneath him. Nails clawing at his shoulders, groans hot and uncontainable, thigh strong as they spin around and he ends up pressed against the wall with Tim’s teeth slick in his neck-
…Okay, so the last one isn’t true.
But that doesn’t stop him from thinking about it. As his fingers clench again, in the rough material of the duvet before slipping inevitably underneath.
-
It does, however, become a bit of a obsession - and he’s willing to admit that only because truth telling is so very unfashionable in this fly-haunted carcass that they call society.
“And then my boss threw the gun, the actual gun, right at-“ Tim pauses, in the middle of his storytelling session in the back room, frowns at his probably glazed eyes and raises a slow hand to indulge in a bit of useless waving “…Chris? Chris? Are you alright or-?”
He blinks himself, with some speed, from the vision of Tim’s hands clenching in his hair and Tim’s cock sliding slickly into his mouth.
…Smiles, so innocently that even a casual acquaintance would be fooled for a few minutes, “just thinking about something funny I heard the other day. Go on with your pointless tale, then.”
It’s a blessing, really a blessing, that Tim is sweet enough to only briefly blink and then slowly carry on.
-
He starts idling about it at odd moments, dreaming about it even when he’s not free to ease the covers down around his hips and take his cock in hand with Tim’s eyes swimming before his face.
“Um… Mr. Frowny face?” A slightly worried looking old woman asks one morning, as he spaces out at the counter, the image of Tim sliding a slick finger within him enough to drive most coherent thoughts from his head.
“What are you looking at?” Marcus sniffs scornfully one day, as he’s briefly lost in musings of how Tim’s groans would sound and how Tim’s throat would move while he was making them.
“Chris!” Tim himself yells despairingly one movie night, as he takes a long moment to imagine the feeling of stone against naked flesh and naked Tim against that stone.
…Odd moments.
He can hardly mind, as he smilingly excuses himself and walks into the storage room or Tim’s bathroom or even his bedroom and brings himself off at achingly fast speed with a certain constantly despairing face hovering attractively before his, he will admit, slightly glazed eyes.
-
It would be odd, perhaps, to discover such lust for your best friend out of the blue – but then he’s always suspected that this was going to be the end result.
He usually likes girls, yes, but to put a label to something so usually insignificant would be quite incredibly stupid. He knew the moment that he first saw Tim, seven years ago and with slightly more optimistic eyes, that he would eventually end up wanting the man groaning beneath him… Or on besides him, or on top of him with his wrists pinned high above his head.
…He’s getting distracted again.
But, no, he’s always expected this to happen. And that’s why, on the one month anniversary of dreaming about Tim’s cock hard in his hand, he snaps open his eyes in the narrow prison cell and decides that he needs a plan.
There are bonuses to being a genius, after all…