#avenreca

Aventurine was horny.

Had it been any other day where there was not work to do, had it been any other time when there were not people occupying every section of the studio, this would be of no issue. He was not like his director in terms of emotional repression, and especially not sexual repression; for him, lust was an overpowering, overbearing force, and it would not leave him be until it got what it wanted. Unfortunately for the gambler, it was right in the middle system hour of an average work day at Memoriam Studios, and that meant that his preferred method of doing so was completely out of the question.

He couldn't help himself from fantasizing over ignoring such a fact: capturing the esteemed Mr. Reca in his arms as he walked down the hall, pulling him flush against him to let him feel how terribly hard he was, and putting his lips to his neck as he’d done so many times before, only now such a sight was for anyone who walked by to bear witness. How nice it would feel to let the entirety of Penacony know who exactly their favourite director belonged to…

Alas, both of them had a reputation to keep up, and Reca was incredibly stringent about doing so.

Luckily for Aventurine, he didn't necessarily require another person to satisfy himself. All he needed was a little alone time, paired with a…suitable environment.

Under normal circumstances, Aventurine would pass the time in the studio’s café, sitting around like he owned the place as he messed around with one of the many, many slot machine games he had on his mobile phone. In fact, he had been doing just that — that is, up to the point he’d felt his pants become noticeably tight in the crotch.

Now, certainly, anyone passing by would be able to notice his suspicious behaviour — the usually rather calm man was, at present, stirring in his seat, fidgeting with anything he could get his hands on, and, on occasion, staring into space for longer-than-normal periods of time. Such a risk of discovery was not one that even he was willing to take, and so he opted to move himself to a more private location, where no one would be able to question whatever was up with him. And the perfect place for his situation, to his luck, was just up the stairs.

With a “click”, the needlessly extravagant double doors that lead to Reca’s office unlocked via a spare key — one which the director had offered to Aventurine beforehand. As he pushed them open, he very quickly came to regret his decision to pick this place for his respite. The intense, unmistakable smell of vinegar and cigarette smoke hit him near instantly, invading his brain through his nostrils like some sort of olfactory, parasitic aphrodisiac. His situation now only worsened, as whatever sense of normalcy he had left to spare slipped out of his brain as if it were never there to begin with.

Defeated, but overwhelmed with raw desire, the gambler slumped towards the ornate office chair that sat behind Reca's desk and lazily plopped himself down onto it in a sideways position, with his legs hanging out over one of the arm rests and his head resting against the other.

Aventurine closed his eyes, inhaled deeply through his nose — as if to take in as much of the director’s scent as possible — and exhaled shakily. His eyes then opened once more, pupils constricting as they scanned the room, as if expecting someone besides himself to be there. He felt dirty, sick, perverted for even thinking of doing…this…here, no less without Reca’s knowledge. But yet, he felt as if all of the pieces had aligned into place to make it his only viable option if he wanted to end his mind’s torment,

Perhaps he wouldn't have needed to resort to this. Perhaps he could have just waited for his beloved director to return to him at the day’s end. To be fair to himself, however…he certainly wasn’t expecting himself to have such a strong reaction to what should be a familiar and even expected smell. And, while yes, on any other day its presence would have been just fine, it just so happened to catch him on one where his hormones were running rampant.

Aventurine fidgeted with his belt in a rushed manner, yanking it off as soon as it was undone and throwing it aside carelessly. With desperation, he hastily pulled down the zipper to his pants and freed his hard-on from his boxers, now stained from the precum that was already leaking from his tip. He sighed to himself; his dressing room would have been more ideal for activities such as this, all things considered, yet here he was.

He searched the room with his eyes once more, ensuring there were no witnesses to the obscenities he was about to commit, yet somehow missing the door that he had accidentally left wide open. They eventually landed and stayed locked on a white crumpled shape on Reca's desk — his gloves. With a mind clouded by unfiltered lust, he gave in to his temptations with no hesitation, and snatched one of the pair for himself.

Aventurine slipped the glove on his left hand; it wasn’t even close to fitting him, of course, but he couldn't be bothered to care, not now. With a shaky breath, he took hold of his length with it — a move that already drew out of him a quiet whine — and began to slowly stroke himself.

The feeling of the glove's fabric against his skin, an all–too familiar one, only made him needier. He rubbed against his tip with his thumb, causing him to shudder and hiss the director's name. He squeezed his eyes shut after that. He needed to immerse himself in the moment.

His pace quickened as he began to let his fantasies envelop him. He was already beginning to twitch, and he'd barely even started. How pathetic of him, he thought, for a man like that to make him feel like this. To make him yearn like this.

Aventurine tilted his head back and let out an audible groan that ended in another whisper of Reca's name, followed by quiet, useless pleading. His eyes fluttered only halfway open, a weak grin plastered on his face for no one to see.

His strokes turned to rapid pumping, causing his eyes to snap shut once again from sheer pleasure. Any remaining coherent thoughts he'd been having had all but vanished now, replaced only with that same name over and over in his head. Reca. Reca. Reca. He wished it were him doing this to him right now, wished it were him with his pretty hands wrapped around his cock.

He let out another, rather loud moan, causing him to instinctively shove a few of his fingers into his mouth to muffle himself. He paused for a moment. Aeons, what if he'd heard that? Part of him hoped he did, hoped he'd come up to his office and stumble on his debauched form strewn across his chair and take pity on him. Part of him — that being, whatever reason he had left in him — dreaded that.

Aventurine dismissed the thought. He couldn't stop now. He was so godsdamned close to ruining himself, right here, right now, on the very chair that his beloved director sat in every night, perhaps even doing the exact thing to himself that he was doing right now. Fantasizing about him. Hopelessly calling his name. Yearning for his touch.

That thought was enough to send him reeling over the edge.

With a muffled cry, cum spilled from Aventurine's tip, dripping onto his gloved hand and splattering his top. He bit down onto his fingertips, his body shuddering as he thrusted upwards into his fist, helping himself ride out his orgasm. Reca’s name repeated on his lips over and over as he fell from his high, like a prayer for only himself to hear, before he fell silent, his laboured breathing being all that remained audible.

He sat there for a while, contemplating as he basked in the afterglow, his hand still held firm to his now–softened length. He could lay here forever if he truly wanted to, he thought. He certainly wouldn't mind being Reca’s new cushion...ah, but he'd hate to no longer be able to feel his warm embrace.

Knowing he'd have to get up at some point, Aventurine let out a sigh, before allowing his eyes to flutter open. He let his vision clear, and immediately, his eyes widened — it was only now did he finally notice the wide-open office door that he'd neglected to shut.

Panic began to set in, and he blindly reached over to the desk beside him for any sort of rag to clean himself off with — only for another hand to grab his wrist, causing him to freeze in place. A chuckle echoed throughout the room.

"It's unlike you to be so oblivious to such obvious things. Is something clouding your judgement, my star?"