Life has been a bit chaotic lately (thank you Stanley Cup playoffs and hockey and work) but we’re officially in the final stretch! Like, we only have a few more beats left to hit and then it’s editing and getting everything polished 🥹
We also recently surpassed 1 million words which is absolutely bonkers. We’ve both been really emotional this past week about the fact that two people who live on other sides of the world and have never met irl have managed to accomplish this over the past year (y’know, on top of becoming close friends). The power of hrpf y’all.
He gets a little lost in it while he strokes himself, momentarily forgetting that he’s recording a voice memo for Matthew, his breathing heavy, uneven, stupidly desperate despite the fact that he just barely got started, despite the fact that he doesn’t have Matthew’s voice in his ear, talking him through it.
But Matthew can have his, when he eventually hears this.
And at the thought of that, Leon moans, a little slutty, a little exaggerated and performative, just for Matthew.
“Fuck, baby,” he gasps, “D’you have any idea how hard it was for me to hold it together with you out there looking like that? Running your fuckin’ mouth the way you do? You drive me so insane, you always have…”
Leon picks up the pace, knowing he won’t last, lips loose as he waxes poetic about the way Matthew plays, the way he fights, the fact that he could still feel the bruises that he left on his inner thighs under his breezers, the fact that all the guys in the room just knew when they saw them.
“Wanted to put you in your place, wanted – fuck—” he gasps, hurtling towards the edge, “Wanted you to put me in mine, the way you fuckin’—”
He sucks in a sharp breath, his hips fucking forward involuntarily.
“God,” he groans, shaking his head, “You just — the way you command the ice. The way everyone fuckin’ listens to you. Do you have any idea what you — fuck, ‘m almost there—”
