@vamplour sent: 「 CAUGHT 」 : for sender to catch receiver pleasuring themselves
pressure. his entire life is nothing but building tension, weight crushing down on his shoulders, walls closing in from all sides. he does what he can to take the edge off. alcohol. drugs. ballet. clubs. sex. the latter has been few and far between lately. and he's feeling the lack of it. he's trying to relieve that need, hand wrapped around himself beneath blankets, head tipped back against his silky pillows staring blankly up at the ceiling. closing his eyes doesn't help. it doesn't make a difference because it was never really about the sensation itself—and he is finding the warmth of his hand far less adequate than a wet mouth or the heat to be found when plunged inside a lover.
it's not enough.
emil sighs and grips his length a little tighter, stroking himself more desperately. he tries to think about anything other than the isolation closing in on him. he tries to call upon the memory of every sweet tongue in his mouth, every hand that has ever shown him kindness. and then there's a fleeting thought of her. for a moment he thinks his imagination has run so wild he is feeling things that aren't there. seeing things. emil releases himself and sits up, squinting in the darkness at lourdes. she's actually there.
he is not easily flustered. but he finds his cheeks growing a little warm. he blinks up at her, the uncertainty and initial embarrassment melting into something else. hunger. a silent plea in those starving umber eyes for her to banish his loneliness.
