𝒅𝗒𝗅𝖺𝗇 .

@fateslaved his hips scoots faster than his own breath; rubbing himself to his hand, enjoying the cool rough texture of his finger as it sloppily graze the damp heat of his pool. “It feels itchy there,” he stares Seva upfront. “Can I borrow your hand?”

@fateslaved pull Seva’s pinky finger towards where his clit hides as he parted his thigh while his rear grounded him to Seva’s member. And what else is a better tool to ease the itchiness that rooted beneath his nerves than Seva’s pinky? Not bothering to ask Seva’s consent,

@fateslaved if I face you instead?”

@fateslaved towards his core. An aching itchiness blooms, but Dylan knows not to cave in with his hand yet, not when there is another alternative for him. Dylan moves his hips up only to land against Seva’s throbbing girth, causing a friction in between the meeting of the two. “Do you mind

@fateslaved As his hand reached the top of Seva’s head, gently patting him, Dylan applauded himself for his decision to wear his shorts; easy to remove, easy for him to feel Seva’s growing girth beneath his pants. “I don’t know. Enlighten me?”

@fateslaved Would it be too mean for him to say no? To ignore his rushing blood that filled the gaps between its muscle tissues of his core, akin to a balloon growing bigger as air entered? Dylan’s curiosity had now killed the cat, with the cat being the barrier that separates them both.

@fateslaved on the sides—straddling him—while his weight is grounded on top of his groin. With this, now, Dylan caves in to Seva’s warmth. “Now this is nice.”

@fateslaved Curiosity outgrew him. Would Seva be disgusted at him if he were to climb on top of his lap? “It’s okay,” he stops for a bit. “I like it hot. I just want to shift my seating.” Dylan opened his legs, shifting his thighs as to trap Seva’s beneath him, only for it

his fingers—intertwining them—instead of taking his arm. “Let’s just go. I am hungry.” @fateslaved

with how Seva, after coming back from his errands extended his hand after saying his sorry, a mixture of doubt and nervousness interlaced. Everything he tried to do with Seva felt foreign to him, it felt less transactional. “It’s fine,” he said; hand grasping

The office itself is silent, no big sounds nor a noise capable of disturbing Dylan’s napping on his desk. Despite the autumn’s wind persistently knocked on the window of his office, he remained asleep; peacefully, like a baby. UNTIL the emergence of a loud voice.