He didn't know what exactly caused it, nor did he really care to find out. All he knew was that he craved your attention and your approval. The closer you got, the more he wanted to involve you in his channel and just be around you in general.

You eventually notice some things going missing. A shirt, maybe a jacket, occasionally boxers, but you just figure they're being misplaced. They could've just been thrown in the closet or the laundry basket…

Kurt’s in his room, sucking on his fingers while he holds your boxers in his other fist, fucking into it like he's in heat. He's so worked up that he's lightheaded, cock hard and leaking against the fabric.

His thrusts are feverish, each one forcing moans and pants from his lips. He presses his fingers against his tongue, picturing it being you. Bobbing his head as he whines around them, lapping at his fingers and occasionally forcing his own mouth open to feel himself drool over his hand.

He feels so guilty about stealing from you. He's a sick freak, you'd tell him as much if you had found out, but he couldn't help himself. They were on the floor, out in the open like you wanted him to take them. Like they were a gift laid out for him.

As bad as he feels about it, he can't stop getting off to it. Making himself cum over and over and over until he can barely string together a sentence and your boxers are completely ruined. He was totally gonna clean them and give them back. Maybe (no he wasn't).

He wished so badly that you would catch him. He's so disgusting, he's a creepy weirdo who was so obsessed with you he stole your personal belongings just to get himself off with. The thought makes his mind feel so hazy. He can barely think and the only thing swimming through his head is telling him to keep fucking his fist.

He could feel as guilty as he wanted, but he couldn't escape how much he liked it. He liked invading your privacy, stealing from you. Jerking off to you and your voice through the wall into the next room. Ruining your things…Everything about him lived to worship you, he lived for your attention and the guilt was just a little bonus feeling that only made his dick harder.

He wanted you to find out. To punish him for it. He was fucking gross, he should pay. He has dreams of you using him like a fleshlight to make up for every single thing he took from you, no regard for his pleasure or discomfort. Sometimes he forces his fingers a little further into his mouth, imagining you making him gag and tear up for your own amusement.

He doesn't notice that he's eventually sobbing from the overwhelming pleasure, and he doesn't hear the knock on his door or the sound of the door being opened.

He didn't even give you time to get either of your pants off, lazily humping you as his hard cock strained against his jeans, a small wet spot becoming obvious to you at the front.

His lips latch onto your neck, sloppily kissing and moaning against your skin. One of your hands rests on his hip, lightly guiding him but mostly letting him do the work, and the other is buried in his hair, savoring the groans you get out of him from tugging on it.

He pulls away for a second to lift the joint to his lips, and then hands it to you. You copy him, but before you're able to actually exhale, he's pressing his lips to yours, needy and desperate. It's almost difficult for you to put it down while you're distracted, but you manage, going back to holding his hips.

Neither of you bother trying to get undressed, and Eddie's grinding becomes more and more feverish as he gets closer to cumming, his cock so painfully hard, begging for more friction. Your kisses grow less and less coordinated until he's just groaning needily against your mouth, holding tightly onto your arms.

His hips stutter, and he moans as he pushes himself over the edge, ruining his pants as his body shudders against you. You hold onto him to keep him from falling all while he pants and mutters curses.

A good amount of time passes with Eddie still rutting against you. Somehow, you managed to get his jeans off, now grinding the ruined cloth of his boxers against your leg. You can feel his cock twitch, and every so often, he swears and lets out a sharp whine.

Despite how sensitive he is, he can't bring himself to stop, head swimming with hazy pleasure. He makes himself cum at least two more times before he even considers moving away from you.

Obviously we're starting with choking, one of the main ways to get him to shut up. The second you wrap your hands around his neck, he's close to cumming in his pants, you don't even need to fully choke him. He would love it though. His life is practically in your hands, and the thought of you strangling the life out him while you fuck his brains out, feeling lightheaded and drooling, would have his eyes rolling back. He'd be in heaven, especially if you make him think you'll actually let him pass out. Get him right to the brink, where he's clawing at your arms, trying to squirm from underneath you and fighting for air. He wouldn't even be mad if you actually did. He would for sure jerk off to the idea of you choking him until he passes out, probably having his own hand around his neck while he does it.

Holding a knife to his throat while you fuck him from behind, your other hand buried in his hair and pulling roughly to keep his head up. Or if we're going more like the actual movie route with him...y'know, killing people, making him lick a blood covered knife clean or holding his head down in a puddle of it while your cock is buried in him, making him lap it up like a dog. I feel like any sort of blood play would have him cumming so hard he'd probably faint.

Making him fuck himself open with the handle of a knife or the barrel of the gun he keeps in his car, forcing him to humiliate and embarrass himself for you, making fun of him for how easy it was to get him to do it in the first place. Especially with the gun, knowing one wrong move could ruin him makes his cock so painfully hard, it's like he's in heat, eager to fuck himself with anything he can get to show you how much he needs you. He'd do pretty much anything for you, even if it included risking his life for the slightest chance he'd get a real cock inside of him.

Honestly anything involving the gun. Making him rub his pathetic cock against it, pointing it at his head while you fuck him, making him suck it off, drooling and choking around it as you shove it as far down his throat as it'll go. All he really needs to cum untouched is for you to threaten him with death and give him any sort of attention.

I also could probably see Kurt jerking off to death threats. Obviously his community isn't very welcoming, and a lot of them are just people making fun of him, so with the side of the internet he's on, he's bound to get a few. Maybe he'd start out with a weak “guys, that's not cool,” but when he’s sitting in his room alone, at his computer so he can delete them, he can’t help but rub himself through his pants as he reads through them. His mind wanders, and he can only think about someone actually finding out where he lives. He makes it pretty easy to find out, after all. He frees his cock, bucking up into his fist as he imagines the faceless person making him suck them off, threatening his life and calling him a worthless fucking loser for getting off on it. Hitting him, stepping on and kicking his useless dick while he begs for more.

The main takeaway here is that this guy is a fucking freak.

He keeps his arms glued to his sides, very much wondering what would happen if he let his hands wander.

You did drag him in there to "take a quick break" and considering you were the only two working that night, he figured it'd be okay if you were quick about it. "You look pretty stressed," was your justification for it, and it was quite persuasive, though Teacake knew he wouldn't ever dream of saying no to that. Besides, there really wasn't anyone coming by this late anyway.

Your relationship wasn't very definitive. He liked you; you were one of the only people at his job that he didn't either hate or feel complete disinterest towards. You made his boring night shifts way better. Still, neither of you had put a label on it, nor did you bring it up to each other. You were just...coworkers/friends who occasionally messed around when things were slow at work.

He highly questioned if that was all though, when he was seeing you up close again. He noticed every detail about you. Every little mannerism and facial expression. His thoughts were interrupted the second your lips were on his, your hands in his dyed blonde hair, being replaced in favor of only the thought of your name. He decides 'fuck it' and slips a hand underneath your bright orange security jacket. All the employees had to wear it, but you somehow managed to make it look amazing.

He feels you nudge him back against the wall, and he doesn't protest, even as you grind your hips against his. You can hear him panting softly as you pull away.

"Griffin's gonna be so fuckin' pissed if he shows up and notices I'm gone..." He mutters, mostly to himself. You roll your eyes, knowing the dude's probably already passed out drunk somewhere.

"Fuck him, he'll live." You say, leaning down to kiss the man's neck. He lets out a sound close to a mix of a sigh and a moan. He feels you reach down and shudders as your palm meets his clothed cock. It's not difficult to get him hard, even just the proximity of you making him flush.

He drops his head against your shoulder, rolling his hips against your hand. You shift a little, getting his jeans down enough to pull him free, wrapping your hand around his dick and feeling him throb against you.

You start to slowly pump his cock, relishing in the noises he makes. He buries his face against you, trying to hide his soft moans. He couldn't be caught dead making noises like that, but he couldn't stop them when it was with you.

It doesn't take much to get him dripping over your fingers, and you press kisses to his neck, leaving hickeys only in spots that would be easy for him to cover up. Your free hand slips underneath his shirt, sliding up to his chest. You give his cock a light squeeze, making him suck in a breath and move to grab your shoulders.

He was almost fully certain he'd fall, his legs growing weak underneath him as he ruts his hips up, fucking into your fist. He could feel himself sliding down the wall just the slightest bit, but with you standing there and his grasp on you, he was steady.

The heat in him grows, and he can no longer conceal the moans leaving his lips. If you listened closely, you could even hear him whine a few times, too turned on to care about embarrassing himself.

He actually gets pretty loud, low groans and curse words in between, and despite the fact you were mostly alone, there were still a few people in their units who could potentially pass by on their way to leave. You laugh softly.

"Jesus, Travis." You say, amused.

He takes a breath, before processing what you had said, and his gaze lifts back to your face. God, he loves that. Just about every person he knows calls him Teacake, and yeah, the sound of you calling him his actual name usually makes him feel all nice and warm inside, but this was the first time you'd ever said it in this context.

He felt ready to cum on the spot. He didn't know what it was. If it was the tone you'd said it in or the fact that he hung on to practically every word you said anyway.

You notice that he'd stopped moving and was just staring at you, so you slow down.

"Are you okay?" You ask, eyes locking with his.

He snaps out of it, his face even more flushed as he finally looks away from you.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry about it, it's just..." He trails off, shaking his head. It was certainly rare for him to not have a tangent to go off on, even if you were quite literally touching his dick.

You narrow your eyes, searching his expression and it becomes clear to you that he isn't uncomfortable. The opposite, actually. You start to stroke him again, thumb running over the head of his painfully hard cock. He sucks in a breath and bucks his hips forward.

"You like that, Travis?" You ask. The teasing tone of your voice is unmistakable, and he can make out a grin on your face.

He groans, before lifting a hand to his mouth to muffle it, but he continues to fuck himself into your fist. His eyes meet yours again, hazy and half lidded. His moans get higher pitched as he gets closer and closer to his release.

You speed up, pressing another kiss to his neck before leaning closer to his ear. "You're such a good boy, Travis."

His hand clamps harder over his mouth as he cums, eyes shutting tight. He almost completely falls over, having to lean onto you as he shoots his load against your pants and over your fingers, needy, low groans leaving him.

You hold him close as you let him ride the high, and then pull your hand away. He's very obviously shaking, his face buried in your neck. You use your clean hand to hold onto him and look around until you spot a roll of paper towels.

By the time you're cleaning the two of you up the best you can, he's gotten mostly back to Earth. He catches his breath, pulling away from you once he's sure he can stand again.

It's pretty quiet in there outside of the sound of him softly panting, until you finally speak up.

"So...that last part.." You start. You knew he liked his name, but you weren't expecting someone like him to be into being called a good boy.

He narrows his eyes at you as he fixes his clothes and then looks away.

"Let's not talk about it."