THE PURSUIT OF PURPOSE has taken Viktor to dark places; forcing him to tread the very thin line between mere infatuation and obsession.

“I don’t think⸻” Viktor pauses mid–sentence, silenced by the calloused pad of your index finger against his damp lips that faintly smell of sweet smoke and spicy cloves.

“That’s the problem,” You murmur in response, leaning forward so that your nose is flush against his; leaving him no time to pull away from you. “You don’t think ⸻ not about what’s important.”

His brows furrow, a crease forming between them as he lifts his gaze to yours. “… and what is that, exactly?”

The combination of the freshness of orange zest and the sweetness of creamy vanilla lingers in Viktor’s mouth, contrasting with the saltiness of your index finger as you push the digit past his lips, his teeth giving way to the warm, wet cavern.

He’d wanted this; dreamt of this scenario time and time again. He could feel his cock stir as you applied pressure to his tongue.

Then you added another finger, moving both of them in and out of his mouth for a moment longer before pulling away from him, sticking your tongue out to taste his saliva.   

Viktor made a face but ultimately decided against engaging in conversation with you. Instead, he lowered himself to his knees with the devotion of a humble believer in front of their God, fumbling with the zipper on your pants.

“You’re no good at usin’ this head of yours, aren’t ya?” It’s not a question but you say it like it is anyway as you take his chin between your thumb and index finger, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“I’m sorry,” and the apology tumbles past Viktor’s lips before he can stop it, feeling stupid beneath your intense gaze.

‘You know how to make it up to me’ ⸻ You haven’t said it, but he knows that you’re about to; knows the way your Adam’s apple shifts before sliding back into position as you swallow your saliva in anticipation of the parting of your lips in preparation to speak.

Viktor knew you in the most intimate sense of the concept of knowing another human being. He was special in that way but it was a double–edged sword to be so devoted to you so completely. In the midst of such chaos, however, was the reassurance that the two of you were meant to be.

No one loved you as he did.

Which is why he barely flinched when you began to run your fingers through his hair; unkempt and slightly damp with sweat as it was without complaint. Coaxing his head towards your now–freed cock as it stood at full mast, glistening as the angry head leaked pre–cum from its slit.

His cock was hard too, confined within his boxers that were barely hidden by his beige button–down.

“Thank you,” He’d exhaled less than a minute later, taking your cock into the palm of his hand. It had a weight to it and felt warm to the touch but he didn’t linger on the fact.

Instead, Viktor leans forward; approaching your cock in an inquisitive manner similar to the way in which he approaches his work.

A cautious lick at first, savouring the taste of your pre–cum before he gains confidence, taking the head of your cock into his mouth whilst stroking the length of it.

“Just like that,” You groan from above him, fisting his hair as every sound that slipped past his lips vibrated against your cock. “Just like I taught you now.”

He’s spurred on by your encouragement, eager to please as he takes more of you into his mouth and it’s only then that he fully recognizes the weight of your cock; how heavy it is against his tongue.

That’s when you take initiative ⸻ moving your cock in and out of his mouth as copious amounts of drool rolled down his face, gathering just above his collarbone.

You’re hitting the back of his throat moments later, his nose buried in your neatly trimmed pubes and he inhales, embracing your body’s odour.

It’s only when you’re on the brink of your orgasm that he looks up at you; his amber–coloured eyes so reminiscent of the scotch on the edge of your desk glossy and a little unfocused.

He does his best though, to maintain eye contact with you as your cock spurts ropes of cum onto his tongue before he swallows, savouring the taste.

You pull away from him once more, a satisfied smile playing on your lips as he catches his breath; his damp lashes splaying across his high cheekbones.

“Fuck⸻!” Viktor exhales sharply, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as his thighs tremble; threatening the give out beneath his weight.

You’ve sat yourself on the edge of your bed now, leaning on the balls of your palms as he hovers over you, taking in the sight of him.

A layer of sweat covers his body like a second skin; his hair, much more dishevelled, clings to his forehead as he lowers his gaze to your cock once more.

Neither of you is fully undressed but that’s neither here nor there as you lean forward, curling your fingers around his hips before pulling him down onto your lap; his cock brushing against yours in a way that makes the both of you shiver.

It feels good so you do it again before taking both of your cocks into the palm of your hand; alternating between stroking and squeezing them.

“Look at you,”  You smirk, clicking your tongue in mock disapproval as Viktor bites down on his lower lip hard, drawing blood in his attempt to stifle any sound that’d threatened to escape him.

“You weren’t so shy when you snuck in to steal my fucking underwear, were you princess?” You continue, taking advantage of the way he gasps to force your fingers back into his mouth.

It’s so cruel, really, the way his body betrays him amid all of this ⸻ the way his lips close around your fingers, desperately sucking on them even as you both tumble over the edge of an orgasm.

Your cock is thoroughly covered in a combination of both pre–cum and cum from both of you by the time you’ve aligned your cock with his entrance.

He feels it, vaguely, the sting of your penetration. It hurts but he’s unable to focus on any one thing for any length of time beyond the constant stream of ‘you’. He’s finally had you; mind, body, and soul.

The aforementioned sting soon gives way to insurmountable pleasure as you begin to thrust into him, grazing his prostate. A combination of pain and pleasure that could only be described as a masochist’s fantasy.

His gummy inner walls clench around your slick cock, seemingly intent on never letting you go just as he’d imagined it; completely and utterly obscene.

“Fu⸻ckin’…!” You grunt, the sound rough and coaxing the hairs on his nape to stand on end as you curl  your fingers in his mouth, “milkin’ me, baby?”

Viktor, however, merely whimpers in response; tears rolling down his face in tandem with his saliva.

 He’s stretched thin, so to speak. His mind struggles to keep up with his body as you bully his prostate, forcing orgasm after orgasm out of his weeping cock.

Then you pull away, cum shooting out of your spent cock and landing on his pretty little hole as it quivers around nothing.

LOGAN IS NOT a heavy sleeper; he’d begun to stir the moment the mattress dipped under your weight. The lids of his eyes are still heavy with exhaustion ⸻ and his gaze is not quite as clear as it ought to be.

“What are you…” he pauses mid–sentence, his voice a rough, low sound that would’ve caused anyone else to reconsider what they’d intended to do.

He’d meant to ask you what you were doing but the rest of his sentence was caught in his throat with his breath when you’d aligned the head of your cock with his entrance.

“I’m taking responsibility for what I’d said to you earlier,” you respond, voice low and all matter–of–fact like it’s obvious as you penetrate him.

It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as he thought it ought to ⸻ not that it didn’t hurt at all, because it did. Rather, it felt as though his… well, insides adjusted to suit your cock like it’d existed solely for that purpose.

You didn’t seem particularly opposed to that notion either; leaning forward to curl your calloused fingers around the base of his throat as he took your cock to the hilt.

The action itself didn’t impede his ability to breathe; on the contrary, it appeared to be a silent assertion of superiority. Something that, oddly enough, left him feeling disappointed but he didn’t or, rather, couldn’t linger on that thought (or much else for that matter) when you began to thrust into him.

“Do you remember what I’d said to you?”

Your voice again, taking on an even lower cadence beside the shell of his ear, as you pull your cock out of his puffy entrance only to force it back past the ring of muscle again.

He doesn’t respond though.

WHEN LOGAN COMES TO for the second time ⸻ or, rather, the first time he’d thought that he ought to be in another dream.

The heavy lids of his eyes had given way to the dim lighting of the back seat of a car; the one just behind the passenger seat up front. It took a moment to adjust to the dimness of the lighting but he was certain that this wasn’t where he’d fallen asleep and, as if reading his thoughts, you confirm as much.

“I take it you had a nice dream?” You more or less hum, glancing at him through the rear–view mirror although you’d reasonably not see much, “I feel a little wronged, you know, ‘cause it took so much effort to drag your ass into the back of the car and here you are, having the time of your life.”

If you’d meant it to be a genuine complaint, he couldn’t tell and never could, to be honest, tell whether or not he should take you seriously. So, he doesn’t necessarily acknowledge what you’d said with anything more than a low, non-committal grunt.

“Where are you ⸻ no, why the fuck am I in the back seat of a car right now?”

Unlike his dream, he gets all of his words out this time around with what he deems a sufficient amount of irritation.

Whether or not it’d actually been a sufficient amount of irritation was up for debate though since it appeared to have gone completely and utterly over your head.

“You’re still new to the ranks, old man,” You sing–song in response, sounding all the more enthusiastic, “… and a little hazing should be expected, no?” as the car’s prior steady gliding forward on what he presumed to be a sparsely populated road came to an abrupt end.

There’s that matter–of–fact tone again; He truthfully didn’t know whether or not he should laugh, cry, or even give the content of his dream some deeper thought.

Now, though, wasn’t exactly the time to consider the absurdity of the past… however long.

“The task is relatively simple,” You continue, your voice taking on a more serious but not quite that sound as you address him, “… all you have to do is find your way back to camp before the sun rises and don’t do anything stupid, you’re being watched.”

‘CAMP’ IS EXACTLY as the name implies  ⸻ a collection of, for the lack of a better word, tents and in the heart of summer, it’s one hell of a place to be even when the sun is replaced by its more forgiving counterpart.

Thus, a layer of sweat visible to all clings uncomfortably to the curves and contours of Logan’s body as he trudges towards your tent.

“You must’ve kissed a superior’s ass to become a Lieutenant, right?” It’s more of an accusation to vent his frustration than a genuine question on Logan’s part but you respond as though to satiate his curiosity nevertheless.

“I can’t say that I’ve done it for the sake of a promotion,” You smile, all wolf–like and if Logan were in a better mood, he’d say a little charismatically too.

He doesn’t respond to that and thus you continue.

“You tryin’ to call me an ass–kisser, rookie?” You chuckle, the sound a combination of genuine amusement and something else, as you approach him, holding his chin between your thumb and index finger.

He is a rookie, technically speaking, of course, but hearing the word roll off your tongue makes him feel strange ⸻ naturally a little annoyed but there’s something else there that he can’t quite put his finger on.

You, on the other hand, are more than comfortable with placing your fingers anywhere you like.

“I like to think of myself as someone who’s very… literal, I suppose?” You continue, lowering the palm of one of your hands to grope the curve of his ass, “… but that’s enough of that; the sun rose before you made it back to camp so it’s only fair that I punish you for your failure.”

“Punish…?” He repeats after you, his voice sounding a little wispy as you close the distance between the two of you, hand groping his ass and all.

“Don’t take it to heart, we all fail sometimes,” You shrug with a wave of your hand as if that ought to be the main issue, “… and you were practically moaning my name in the car so I guess I’m a little curious about what you were dreaming about too.”

The dream, of course, hadn’t exactly slipped his mind as opposed to him forcing himself to not think about it given his circumstances at the time.

He’d walked for… who knows how long before slipping into a 24/7 gas station’s restroom to relieve himself of the throbbing of his cock because of the stupid thing.

It wasn’t exactly ideal but what else could he have done if not lowering his sweatpants and boxers to palm himself until the angry head of his cock spurted ropes of cum into the toilet?

Now, though, he was standing in front of you and could feel your erection against his.

“This was a little too easy for my liking,” Your voice again, just like in his dream, but this isn’t a dream, now, is it? You were calling him easy and instead of being annoyed he couldn’t help but allow a moan to slip past his parted lips much to your delight.

“I can make an exception though,” You continue, moving the both of you towards your desk before bending him over and making a show of kneeling behind him and lowering his sweatpants and underwear.

Logan is… relatively silent; he doesn’t respond to any of your questions but he does let out a string of profanities beneath his breath as you spread his cheeks, dragging your tongue from his balls up to the entrance of his ass as the tight ring of muscle spasms in response to your affection.

“I can’t believe you’re fucking⸻” He pauses mid–sentence, his thighs trembling beneath his weight, as you alternate between sucking, kissing and occasionally biting the surrounding flesh.

The sound of his voice doesn’t necessarily catch you off guard but it’s enough to get you to pull away from his ass, wiping the string of saliva still connecting you to his winking hole with the back of your palm before responding, “… kissing your ass? I already told you that I’m a very literal person and I don’t do this for a promotion.”

You sound almost… exasperated and Logan has half the mind to turn around and punch you in the face but your tongue is sliding past that ring of muscle and it’s so strange but not unwelcomed.

He couldn’t bring himself to oppose you ⸻ not when your tongue was moving in and out of his ass like that; and especially not when the slit on the head of his cock was leaking so much pre–cum.

When you eventually pull away from his ass, he finds himself whimpering at the loss; pushing back against where your mouth should have been. It’s almost pathetic enough to make you want to indulge him but it’s meant to be a punishment. 

Thus, Logan finds himself kneeling between your spread legs moments later. He’s pressing his chest together, a mediocre crease forming between them as you stare down at him, amused.

“They’re so…” You pause, tilting your head to the side as you lazily palm your own throbbing cock (all the while neglecting his), “big, you know?” as warmth gathers beneath the surface of his skin.

He’s not an idiot, he knows what you’re implying.

“Jesus,” You whistle, “you have such pretty tits,” as you align your cock with the entrance of the crease before sliding up into it.

“I’m not a fucking⸻” He protests, silenced only by the fistful of his hair you grab as you respond, “I’m only saying what I see, soldier. Now, be a good boy for me and I’ll consider giving that cock of yours some attention.”

‘When did you get so… stern?’ He’d thought of this at that moment but couldn’t think of much else beyond the sensation of your cock gliding between his… ‘tits’ as you’d called them and the voice in the back of his head telling him to be a good boy for you and squeeze his chest together some more.

Logan had always trusted his intuition in his earlier years so that’s what he does. He indulges you, and by extension, himself as he feels every bump, curve, or vein on your cock against his skin until you’re painting his chest white.

“I should’ve done this a lot sooner,” You breathe out after a moment of silence, your breathing evening out as you move over to your swivel chair before motioning for him to join you.

UNLIKE HIS DREAM, he’s made to suck you off first.

Your cock is heavy on his tongue; he’s never done this before though so it’s all a little clumsy ⸻ the way he hollows his cheeks and tries his hardest to avoid his teeth grazing you as saliva escapes his mouth, gathering just above his collarbone.

It’s cute, though, and is even cuter when you begin to touch his weeping cock. He’s like an obedient little dog; one that’s all bark and minimal bite.

Every time you touch him, his body tenses and he trembles. Thus, you decide that he ought to be closer to you and have him straddle your lap instead.

When you align yourself with his entrance, you can tell that he’s nervous so you take your time and ease into him. It’s uncomfortable for the both of you, him more so than you, you’re sure so there’s no need to rush it either.

There’s no stopping you once you’ve both adjusted though. His back is to your chest and his knees are to his chest as you thrust up into him. He’s a big guy but you’ve folded him in half nevertheless and Logan’s loving every moment of it.

Strings of little ‘uh–uh–uh’s fall from his lips like a mantra as ropes of cum shoot from the head of his cock; a release that he’d so desperately craved but couldn’t even wrap his head around at the moment.

“You’ll be okay,” You hum as you press a kiss to the side of his sweaty temples, “I’ll welcome you to the ranks myself, I don’t think I want to share you with the others.”

SATORU HAD long since grown accustomed to the labyrinthine hallways that eventually led to your office, but the ever–changing scent would remain a pleasant surprise.

this time strawberry jam with top notes of cherry blossom and honeysuckle on a base of sandalwood and ginger — a scent that aroused nostalgia.

“where have you been?”

it’s a rhetorical question — one he already knows the answer to — but you recline on the leather sofa, calloused fingers curling around the stubble decorating your chin as you consider your answer anyway.

the room falls silent in the meantime, and satoru feels uneasy. he doesn’t like the silence; it clings uncomfortably to his pale, unblemished skin. so he moves towards you, his knees knocking yours, as he makes himself comfortable beside you, pouring himself a glass of the intense cherry wood coloured liquor that had sat otherwise undisturbed on the coffee table.

“where have you been?” you, after giving him a once–over, repeat after him. a question in response to a question; displeased, satoru’s lower lip juts forward in a pout before he adjusts his expression, sticking his tongue out at you, “i’m a busy man.”

to which you click your tongue in response — neither pleased nor displeased by his response.

satoru huffs out a breath, his chest rising and falling in sync, as his frustration grows. then an idea crosses his mind; a brief flicker, really, before he leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek before leaving without another word.

startling blue eyes — not even the most picturesque aquatic scene could compete with — meet yours on the other side of your desktop’s screen a week later. he feigns indifference, lower lip glossy as it juts forward into a pout, “i’m busy.”

a blatant lie; you have half the mind to call him out on it but you settle for merely raising a brow as if to ask, ‘are you being serious right now?’

he’s sat cross–legged on your bed, his shorts just barely covering his thighs as he continues, “studying for finals, you know, important shit,” one of your t–shirts hanging loosely around his much smaller frame.

which earns him his first vocalized response, a low grunt followed by a brief, “language.” and the corners of his lips curl upwards into a lopsided, boyish grin.

he’d been teasing you all week leading up to today; the day you ‘coincidentally’ happened to have an important meeting.

what had begun as innocent pictures transitioned to suggestive poses before becoming explicit. then there were the videos; one after the next.

if he fisted his half–hard cock in one while whimpering your name then he’d be riding a dildo buried to the hilt in his ass in the next rambling about how it filled him up better than you ever could.

every man has his limits; it’s not your fault that satoru crossed the line time and time again.

hence why you recline in your office chair, unzipping your trousers before lowering the band of your boxers, thus freeing your hard cock from its constraints. wherein it stood at full mast in full view of the camera.

satoru’s response is delayed; a quiet gasp escapes his parted lips as you retrieve a tube of lube from one of your desk’s many compartments, squeezing a considerable amount onto your cock before taking it into your palm.

“what are you waiting for?” it’s less of a question and more of a demand. and satoru feels embarrassed, and out of place for being clothed.

“i was just...” he trails off, scrambling for an excuse with his mouth slightly ajar but you quickly interject, “you were just?” prompting him to continue while simultaneously mocking the way in which he spoke.

“i’m sorry,” he squeaks after a beat of tense silence, looking damn near on the verge of tears, as he rapidly descends into that softheaded boy in need of your guidance. but a cute expression can only go so far.

“i’m sorry who?” you continue, gaze fixated on his before he lowers his eyes, unable to withstand the pressure, as he mumbles in response, “daddy — i’m sorry, daddy. that’s what i meant.”

to which you respond with a pleased smile and gentle instructions, “go get yourself some lube and that dildo you’ve been using all week, doll. you know the one.”

there’s no hesitation this time (your tone doesn’t leave much room for it) so satoru immediately moves out of the camera’s frame before returning with the items you asked for. he’s discarded his shorts and underwear somewhere along the way but your t–shirt remains, barely concealing his erect cock.

“what do you want me to…” he trails off, warmth gathering beneath the surface of his cheeks and staining them a crimson colour as he places the dildo and lube in front of his laptop.

you don’t answer immediately, taking your time to work your cock as you stare at him in your t–shirt that probably still has your scent lingering on it. but you do respond eventually, “recreate the video for me; tell me how much better it feels, i want to see it all.”

satoru grimaces slightly but knows better than to protest, you taught him better than that. so, he nods obediently as he lifts your t–shirt to expose his cock, pre–cum dribbling from the slit.

he goes on to adjust his position on your bed, propping himself up so you get a full view of his ass clenching and unclenching in silent anticipation of what’s to come.

the lubricant is cold against his warm skin; the contrast eliciting all the more excitement within him. he doesn’t shy away from coating his fingers in a considerable amount of lubricant either — the dildo is… well, so–called ‘above average’ to say the least.

he circles the ring of muscle with a slender finger, inhaling sharply as inserts it. and, after a moment, he adds another, both knuckle–deep, before curling them in a bid to find his prostate.

you can’t help the smirk that plays on your lips at the sight of him all spread out for you, the rim of his anus stretching to accommodate his fingers.

“i know you can do better than that sweet face,” you hum almost non–committedly as you smear your pre–cum across the head of your cock, “remind me again — how many did you have earlier?”

satoru pauses, flashing you a dirty look before answering sweetly, “four, your majesty. it seems your age is catching up to you, daddy.” to which you roll your eyes in response, “you know what to do.”

and he does, in fact, know what to do. it isn’t long before he adds a third and then a fourth finger — fully stretching himself out but they’re all gone almost as fast as they came. you haven’t given him permission to orgasm so he decides not to push it too far just yet.

instead, he lifts his hips before slowly sinking onto the lubricated dildo. he pulls his lower lip between his teeth, although it does little to stifle the string of whimpers cascading past his glossy lips.

“it’s so big,” he groans, unable to move as he adjusts to the intrusion. his muscles spasm — similar to the way it does with you but nowhere near as intensely. but he continues, his voice breathier by the minute, “feels so full, s’much better than you.”

you keep your doubts of the validity of what he’s saying to yourself, indulging in the fantasy, “do you think you can move, sweet boy?” as you encourage him to continue.

he nods slowly, hesitating for a moment, before cautiously lifting himself and subsequently lowering himself onto the dildo. a low, open–mouthed moan reverberates from deep within his throat as he does so.

“sh—it, it’s so big,” he hiccups, his eyes, those startling blue eyes, glossy as he begins to ride the dildo. his cock (much like yours) glistens with pre–cum as he does so.

you’re both nearing your orgasms after some time, the muscles in your... pelvis? stomach...? contracting as you both, in sync, release the pressure you’d accumulated from deep within you.

satoru’s complexion is similar to a red colour palette as he goes through the motions of his orgasm, utterly distracted by the way in which an overwhelming sense of pleasure washes over him, leaving his body trembling in its wake.

you, however, amidst your orgasm, dial your assistant’s number, your voice curt as you instruct them: “clear my schedule as soon as possible.”

it turns out that satoru was a force to be reckoned with when he felt especially neglected.

you’d been particularly busy as of late; satoru’s father, your childhood best–friend and now boss, was preparing to launch a new product soon. thus, your undivided attention was required. something satoru struggled to comprehend.

“your father would kill me if he only knew why i left so abruptly,” you muse, tangling your fingers in satoru’s hair as he gags around the length of your cock, “but is it my fault that he hadn’t taught you the mere principle of patience?”

satoru, lips stretched around your cock as drool cascades from the corners, glances up at you desperately.

“does he even know where you disappear to after your lectures?” you continue, easing his mouth off of your cock with a ‘pop’ sound, before pulling him up onto your lap with his back to your chest.

you lower your lips to his ear, gently nipping at the lobe as you pull his knees to his chest, “that’s right, you come home to me ‘cause you need someone older to set you straight,” before aligning your cock with his winking entrance.

full nelson was always his favourite; your cock kisses the deepest parts of him while maintaining closeness. he doesn’t like it when you’re far away.

but this — this is perfect. the sound of your balls slapping his inner thighs as you thrust into him is music to his ears.

the apartments on the third floor were considerably nicer than those on the second and first floors.

“you know —” you pause, lower lip quivering as you align the head of your cock with his entrance, “i’d spent the past month at a church back in new york city,” tight, warm, inviting as it were always, “but i’m afraid you’ve. . . well, taken my thoughts off of the straight and narrow, as they call it.”

his lips part and he groans, subconsciously arching his back, “i’ll be sure to —” though you interject mid–sentence, burying your cock to the hilt inside of him. it takes him a moment to adjust to the sudden intrusion, arousal clouding his expression. but he does eventually — wrapping his arms around your torso, each nail creating an indent similar to but not quite the replica of crescents. “i’ll be sure to apologise from the bottom of my mundane heart the next time i confess my sins.”

a scoff. “right,” you agree, nodding your head playfully as you fist his semi–hard cock, “i’m sure he’ll appreciate that. he’s a very forgiving god.”

floor–to–ceiling windows cast a substantial amount of natural light on the open space. and the hardwood flooring almost shimmers in response; untouched, clean.

francis’ cock promptly stands at full mast as you angle your thrusts, intentionally grazing but not quite hitting his prostate. it’s slower than he’s used to, bordering on sadism he thinks, but it builds momentum.

“he’s —” he gasps, breath catching in his throat as his eyes widen, “he’s got to be, right? ‘cause he’s forgiven you so many times,” the sound of your balls colliding with his reddened skin echoing throughout the empty room.

you clench your jaw at that, leaning closer so that your foreheads are pressed together. minty breath wafting across his face as you murmur in a low voice: “don’t forget yourself, boy.” and he chuckles, lips curling upwards into a smug grin: “i’d say the same damn thing to you, old man.”

open space — yes, there’s more open space in this apartment. a lot of open space for the chandelier overhead to reflect the signature blue and red lights from the street below. you couldn’t hear the sirens though.

“fuck,” another groan, and then a subsequent string of profanities as the muscles in the pit of his stomach contract. you’re cruel, one moment you’re drawing his orgasm out and the next you’re pounding his prostate while calculatedly squeezing the head of his cock as pre–cum leaks from the slit. “what the fuck are you doing?” his voice is rough now, a demand bordering on something less than mundane as he approaches his orgasm, struggling to maintain control of himself and his appearance.