It's Pronounced Pâté

I've always had a good imagination. Not sure if that's been a good thing or bad thing historically, too easy to come up with worse case scenarios or ghosts to haunt myself with, but right now it's a good thing.

I think. Or maybe I'm just horny.

I mean, I can't pretend I'm not with the way I slowly stroke my cock, still slightly groggy from sleep, woken up half hard from dreams I don't remember. What I do remember is Tegan kissing me in the hospital. Warm, soft. Too soft really, like he didn't want to hurt me, or was he scared? About what it would mean? What does it mean? Apparently it means me fantasizing about more.

I can't pretend my hand is his, even if the emitters in my palm are smooth I can still feel them and the slight tingle of static. Would he like it? Would he even let me or would he be too worried I'd shock him? I mean, that was one time and it was over clothes, I just got a little too excited he was letting me touch him like that in the first place. The metal zipper didn't help. I'll be more careful next time. Maybe that's optimistic but what are fantasies for?

His hands are rough for a retiree. He always was too hard on them, I couldn't help but notice a few new scars with the old ones. I bet they'd feel good though, his warm, calloused hands stroking my cock. Would he do it fast or slow? Let's go with slow, make up for lost time. He owes me that much for not telling me he was alive.

No, don't go there, not right now when it's starting to get good. I push my boxers all the way down to stretch out fully on my back, closing my eyes and leaning back into my pillow with a sigh as I get comfortable. Ignore all the still lingering aches and pains from the museum fight, focus. He'd stroke me nice and slow like this. Would he kiss me while he did it? He would. Harder than he did back at the hospital, harder than he did in the past. Eager too, in this fantasy he wants me back. Wants me the way I want him. Like I always wanted him.

What was I so scared of back then? I've never been shy, did him being a man really make that much of a difference? I still caught myself staring at the way his lips wrapped around the end of a cigarette both then and now, the way they pursed against it and the subtle sunkenness below his cheekbones as he inhaled. Can't pretend I didn't notice the little flash of silver from the piercing in his tongue either. When did he get it?

What would it feel like?

I run a finger down the center of my shaft trying to imagine it. In the fantasy he's good, really good. The way he gently drags the tongue stud just under the tip of my head before dragging it downwards. How far down would he go? He'd tease me first I think, make me want it more, he doesn't know how bad I want it. I want him so bad it hurts, maybe it always hurt.

Then he'd go all the way down to the base of my cock, until his nose brushed against the hair down there. Would he choke? Would I want him to? No, he doesn't choke, but there is a sound as my cock hits the back of his throat. It's enough for me to make some embarrassing one's of my own.

"Oh, Tegan."

He'd like that wouldn't he? The sounds he could get out of me, breathing his name like a prayer. Or a curse. I'd want him to. If for no other reason than I wouldn't have to beg him not to stop. He wouldn't. He never did things in half measures.

I let out a groan that no one can hear as I increase the pace and pressure of jerking myself off. Its not as good as how I imagine his mouth feels but it'll have to do. For now. If I shut my eyes tighter I can almost see it.

His hair is so long now, would he let me hold it while he went down on me? Probably not, but this is a fantasy so I do it anyway. He moans against my cock as I tighten the grip on his hair and I can't help but answer it with my own.

I'm close but I don't want it to be over. Not yet. Not when the mental image of him deep-throating my cock is so clear in my head. The way his lips feel, the warmth of his tongue and the metal stud in it pressed against me. Slow or fast I can't even care. The sounds he makes. The sounds I'm making. How bad I want him. That he wants me back. He wants me back.

"Fuck!" My eyes snap open and there's only my boring old ceiling to greet me. My hand still pumps lazily with a mind of its own, warm cum pooling against my stomach. Would Tegan have swallowed if the fantasy were real? With reality slowly reinstating itself it feels almost embarrassing to think about it now.

I wipe my stomach with the bed sheet, changing them can be a problem for future me. For now I push the hair back from my forehead and wonder how an awkward kiss, hopped up on painkillers at the hospital could spark all of that. What's wrong with me? Maybe I'm just lonely. Maybe it's been to long since I was with anyone I could give a damn about.

And I do, don't I? I loved him and I never got the chance to say it. No, that's a lie, I had a million chances I just waited too long. Too scared of what it meant. Too scared of rejection.