[ He waits a small eternity for that last message, wondering what the hell Connor could be writing, but when he finally receives it his heart almost stops.
Jesus.
He is so out of his league. ]
I didn't know you were such a poet. [ His eyes wander down the message again and drift closed as he imagines it. Something closes around his heart, making it harder to breathe.
When he opens them again, his fingers are already typing. ]
I wouldn't push you away for long. Just long enough to lock the door. Then I'd bring you further inside and [ he swallows ] take off your shirt.
[ It's true, he is out of his league. But so is Connor. In fact, he's in so much trouble and in over his head. But, he also can't find it in himself to stop.
Because he likes Oliver.
Actually. ]
Better. Sort of.
[ Not much, but... it's a slight improvement. So, he'll still take control. ]
I'd take yours off, too. And I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you. Your skin is always so warm. Soft. I'd bury my face in the crook of your neck and start sucking at your skin, biting it, all while walking you backwards toward the bedroom.
[ Actually. What a dick. Why does Oliver even like him again?
Oh, right.
Because apparently he's as good at sexting as he is at sex. Oliver can almost feel Connor's mouth on his skin, the scrape of his teeth, the scratch of his beard against his jaw and neck. Heat rushes to his face. It's ridiculous how he knows at least a dozen programming languages but right now he's struggling with simple English. ]
It drives me crazy when you do that. You know my coworkers make comments about the hickeys [ he smiles to himself ] and the beard burn. But it's worth it.
[ Connor has no idea why Oliver likes him. (Except for the confident part of himself that knows it's because of his looks and his attitude.)
Also the sex. He's very good at that.
Oliver is, too. And sometimes, maybe, Connor wonders if it's because he does like him. But, again, that's self-reflection he's really not interested in.
He can't help but smirk a little bit to himself—or, at the phone, rather—at that admission. And he may or may not be making a mental note to really go hard at Oliver's neck next time. ]
I don't know, Oliver, what would we be doing by the time we got to the bedroom?
[ The confidence and the attitude are part of it. Oliver would have to be insentient not to find it attractive. But there's a little more to it than that, otherwise his stomach wouldn't be full of butterflies right now.
This is so ridiculous. But, as with most things Connor-related, he can't help but get into it. ]
We'd still be making-out. And I'd [ he stops, his mouth dry and his heart beating like a drum roll; you can do this, Oliver ] bite your lip as I reach down between us and open your fly so I could get my hand in your pants.
[ His skin is hot under his (ugly threadbare white) t-shirt, and the heat seems to travel downwards and pool in the pit of his stomach as he imagines the black boxer-briefs Connor confessed to wearing before (Oliver's not sure he owns any other color). ]
[ As a matter of fact, Connor does own more than just black boxer-briefs. there's a variety of colors that usually don't get to see the light of day except for when he's alone in his apartment getting dressed or undressed. Sometimes someone might get lucky enough to see a patterned or brightly colored pair.
And if Oliver plays his cards right, he might be one of them. ]
I like when you bite.
[ Understatement. ]
And, I hope that means your hand will be around my cock. Tell me more.
[ 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. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-12-03 04:57 pm (UTC)Jesus.
He is so out of his league. ]
I didn't know you were such a poet. [ His eyes wander down the message again and drift closed as he imagines it. Something closes around his heart, making it harder to breathe.
When he opens them again, his fingers are already typing. ]
I wouldn't push you away for long. Just long enough to lock the door. Then I'd bring you further inside and [ he swallows ] take off your shirt.
[ Better? ]
no subject
Date: 2014-12-03 05:50 pm (UTC)Because he likes Oliver.
Actually. ]
Better. Sort of.
[ Not much, but... it's a slight improvement. So, he'll still take control. ]
I'd take yours off, too. And I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you. Your skin is always so warm. Soft. I'd bury my face in the crook of your neck and start sucking at your skin, biting it, all while walking you backwards toward the bedroom.
no subject
Date: 2014-12-03 06:21 pm (UTC)Oh, right.
Because apparently he's as good at sexting as he is at sex. Oliver can almost feel Connor's mouth on his skin, the scrape of his teeth, the scratch of his beard against his jaw and neck. Heat rushes to his face. It's ridiculous how he knows at least a dozen programming languages but right now he's struggling with simple English. ]
It drives me crazy when you do that. You know my coworkers make comments about the hickeys [ he smiles to himself ] and the beard burn. But it's worth it.
What would we do once we got to the bedroom?
no subject
Date: 2014-12-03 08:22 pm (UTC)Also the sex. He's very good at that.
Oliver is, too. And sometimes, maybe, Connor wonders if it's because he does like him. But, again, that's self-reflection he's really not interested in.
He can't help but smirk a little bit to himself—or, at the phone, rather—at that admission. And he may or may not be making a mental note to really go hard at Oliver's neck next time. ]
I don't know, Oliver, what would we be doing by the time we got to the bedroom?
no subject
Date: 2014-12-03 08:52 pm (UTC)This is so ridiculous. But, as with most things Connor-related, he can't help but get into it. ]
We'd still be making-out. And I'd [ he stops, his mouth dry and his heart beating like a drum roll; you can do this, Oliver ] bite your lip as I reach down between us and open your fly so I could get my hand in your pants.
[ His skin is hot under his (ugly threadbare white) t-shirt, and the heat seems to travel downwards and pool in the pit of his stomach as he imagines the black boxer-briefs Connor confessed to wearing before (Oliver's not sure he owns any other color). ]
no subject
Date: 2014-12-04 03:39 am (UTC)And if Oliver plays his cards right, he might be one of them. ]
I like when you bite.
[ Understatement. ]
And, I hope that means your hand will be around my cock. Tell me more.
no subject
Date: 2014-12-04 04:00 am (UTC)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
Date: 2014-12-05 03:38 am (UTC)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
Date: 2014-12-08 08:19 pm (UTC)(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. ]