Dan Heng hates the way his head tilts toward the palm, hates more the soft sound that escapes his lips as it leaves him. Embarrassing. Although what's even moreso is the way the guitarist closes the door behind him, as if he's read the younger man's thoughts.
Moreso, but not enough to stop his hand from slipping down over his body within minutes of the other being gone, the motion almost automatic. He doesn't touch himself often, has never really found the need, but now he's driven by something entirely different, by instinct that has him biting back a groan at the first brush of his fingertips over his slit.
Too loud—
Fingers part his lips while another ghosts over him, exploring—he doesn't let himself linger for long though before he starts to fuck himself open, two fingers working fast and deep. It's easy for his brain to pretend that they're not even his own digits, that they're attached instead to an easy smile and lavender eyes, a thought that has him biting into his wrist in an effort to shut himself up; when the first orgasm of his heat takes him, it's his lip he bites instead to hold back a too-familiar name, even as his voice slips and echoes off the tiles. ]
no subject
Dan Heng hates the way his head tilts toward the palm, hates more the soft sound that escapes his lips as it leaves him. Embarrassing. Although what's even moreso is the way the guitarist closes the door behind him, as if he's read the younger man's thoughts.
Moreso, but not enough to stop his hand from slipping down over his body within minutes of the other being gone, the motion almost automatic. He doesn't touch himself often, has never really found the need, but now he's driven by something entirely different, by instinct that has him biting back a groan at the first brush of his fingertips over his slit.
Too loud—
Fingers part his lips while another ghosts over him, exploring—he doesn't let himself linger for long though before he starts to fuck himself open, two fingers working fast and deep. It's easy for his brain to pretend that they're not even his own digits, that they're attached instead to an easy smile and lavender eyes, a thought that has him biting into his wrist in an effort to shut himself up; when the first orgasm of his heat takes him, it's his lip he bites instead to hold back a too-familiar name, even as his voice slips and echoes off the tiles. ]