[ Is there such a thing as playing your cards right with Connor? Sometimes it feels like they're not even playing the same game. He'd be thrilled to see something other than black, though—not that the black isn't perfectly flattering.
It is, really flattering. And distracting.
Oliver's mouth twitches into a smile and heat fills his cheeks again. He's making his own mental notes, in particular about the biting. Maybe he should do that more. ]
Well, yeah. Where else would it be?
[ God, what does he say? ]
Your dick is fantastic. I love having my hands on it. I love the sounds you make when I stroke it. But [ he bites his lip ] I wouldn't do that yet. First I'd rub you through your underwear until you begged me to touch you. Really touch you.
[ It's entirely possible they're not playing the same game. Connor starts out playing one and switches mid-hand to something else. That way no one can keep up and no one can see the rules changing. It also means he gets to keep control and that's the biggest part. ]
Don't know. You're the one stopping in awkward places.
[ What he says this time is enough. Better than all the rest so far. Clearly Oliver just needed to be pushed in the right direction.
Also, he knows his dick is fantastic. But, it's always nice to have it in writing. ]
Tease.
I wouldn't beg for anything. Not yet. You have to earn that. Wouldn't be able to hold back some of those sounds you like [ stop saying love, Oliver ], though. Don't know how long I'd be patient. Because, see, I'd want you out of your clothes. So, I'd push you down and get the rest of them off. Then I'd make you tell me what you wanted me to do. Tell me, Oliver.
[ He can almost hear the noises Connor's talking about, the breathy moans and deep groans that are drawn out just long enough to ramp up the heat in Oliver's blood. It's a rush to know he's the one causing them. He'll kiss Connor just to see if they taste as sweet as they sound.
(And he won't stop saying love, mostly because he doesn't even realize he's doing it or that it would be a problem.)
He never has the upper hand for long, it seems (unless Connor lets him). His eyes are closed again and he's lying back on his bed, against the pillows, though he doesn't remember how he got there. Beside him is his abandoned laptop.
He imagines Connor hovering over him and tries to picture what would happen next. ]
Your mouth. I'd want you to [ he's not used to putting it into so many words; it's usually just a look and a nod or a suggestive touch, ] suck me off. Or until I told you to stop.
[ Just the thought has his cock stirring in very real interest. It's not the first time thinking about Connor has affected him, but at least he's not sitting in a board room or at his work desk this time. ]
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no subject
It is, really flattering. And distracting.
Oliver's mouth twitches into a smile and heat fills his cheeks again. He's making his own mental notes, in particular about the biting. Maybe he should do that more. ]
Well, yeah. Where else would it be?
[ God, what does he say? ]
Your dick is fantastic. I love having my hands on it. I love the sounds you make when I stroke it. But [ he bites his lip ] I wouldn't do that yet. First I'd rub you through your underwear until you begged me to touch you. Really touch you.
no subject
Don't know. You're the one stopping in awkward places.
[ What he says this time is enough. Better than all the rest so far. Clearly Oliver just needed to be pushed in the right direction.
Also, he knows his dick is fantastic. But, it's always nice to have it in writing. ]
Tease.
I wouldn't beg for anything. Not yet. You have to earn that. Wouldn't be able to hold back some of those sounds you like [ stop saying love, Oliver ], though. Don't know how long I'd be patient. Because, see, I'd want you out of your clothes. So, I'd push you down and get the rest of them off. Then I'd make you tell me what you wanted me to do. Tell me, Oliver.
no subject
(And he won't stop saying love, mostly because he doesn't even realize he's doing it or that it would be a problem.)
He never has the upper hand for long, it seems (unless Connor lets him). His eyes are closed again and he's lying back on his bed, against the pillows, though he doesn't remember how he got there. Beside him is his abandoned laptop.
He imagines Connor hovering over him and tries to picture what would happen next. ]
Your mouth. I'd want you to [ he's not used to putting it into so many words; it's usually just a look and a nod or a suggestive touch, ] suck me off. Or until I told you to stop.
[ Just the thought has his cock stirring in very real interest. It's not the first time thinking about Connor has affected him, but at least he's not sitting in a board room or at his work desk this time. ]