𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 // @devilthirst.
It was not unusual for Cyrus Westbrooke to ask for help from time to time. What was unusual was purchasing someone for their skillset. Erik Holter was the best candidate nearby. He was quick, agile. These were all rumours of course, since he hadn’t seen the man out on the field yet. He could barely trust a hunter, let alone their word. After having tracked him down, paid him with a bagful of cash, he had the man in his car, driving out to the Safari Inn to rest up for the night, before they could peruse the nearby forest for the beast Cyrus wanted to track down, capture and take home, to tame it.
Having parked his Range Rover in the car park, he went on ahead to get a room for the night. Two separate double beds. Once there, he quickly dispatched all of his belongings, while the hunter went off for a shower. During it, he sat back on the couch, legs extended out across the coffee table in front of him, a map in his hands to begin dotting the sightings the creature had been seen. No more than five minutes later, he had dozed off, the pen barely clung between his fingers, the map over his chest. It had been a long drive and journey to get here, to find Erik and bring him to his desired location. The two men exchanged very few words, only simply talking about the beast, and sharing few stories of their hunts. Cyrus was completely out of it, to the point where he didn’t even hear the man exit the en-suite bathroom in nothing but a towel, dripping wet.
In his short, but deep slumber, he felt pressure against his body. Then, some movement. A grunt passes his lips, he’s agitated awake, his vision slightly blurred. A hand rises up to rub the haze from his eyes, to witness the man on his lap, gyrating his hips down into the natural swell of his groin. At first, he says nothing, there’s a blank expression on his face. He’s not alarmed, but not amused either. Not at first, anyway. His groin, while he’s still unaffected, is shocking for its sheer volume, to which people often mistake for arousal.
Cyrus can’t deny himself at the fact that this stranger, the man, is attractive. A body perfectly muscled, with slender, plump lips and a natural charisma about him that he wished to know more about. Naturally, he breaks the silence to against his instincts, and asks rather firmly, “Man, what’re you doing?”
