Uh-huh... maybe she's the one really running the place. Later, Your Grace.
[ Wriothesley takes his leave and leaves Lyney confused. Why was he so... different? He actually didn't want him to go for a moment or two. It was easy to talk to him then, to not feel like he was a little worker bee in an entity he couldn't care less about.
He stays in line. Wakes up, works for coupons, writes his letters, and makes his deal with Wriothesley.
What else is there?
It's a countdown until he's gone... but he couldn't lie to himself that it was nice to actually smile. To feel a little less... alone. He hates how lonely he feels. His frustrations pale in comparison to what he's sure Lynette feels, he has to keep remembering that.
Those letters first delivered echo in his mind. Her bed is cold, after all, and even in his... he feels it. He hasn't slept alone in years and when his soulmate and twin is stripped from his side... there's only so much a boy like him could handle.
There's a vulnerability sproutingĀ in his heart he doesn't like. Fanning flames he didn't need to consume him. Bitterness, anger, frustrations.Ā What does it boil down to?
He's lonely. Plain and simple.
When he crawls into the bed for the night in his sleepwear, he didn't think he would be stuck re-reading Lynette's letters. The pile stacked at his side grows more like a mess as he goes through them -- until he allows himself a moment of delusion.Ā
Thinking of how Lynette wouldĀ fill the bed nicely with him, keep him warm... there's no way to avoid his reaction. His cock twitches to life until it's free to the air. It's been months and a gnawing sense of desire calls to him.Ā
Oh, how he wished it was Lynette's fingers wrapping around his cock, from base to tip. How he liked it best ā consumed with want and touch. His fingers hold tight, tugging at himself quickly enough to stifle a moan past his lips. This relief wasn't something he sought out often, but he needs this. He needs to delude himself in thinking of something other than the fear he has inside.
So he channels it in pleasure, in something he believes in ā that he hopes to always give Lynette.Ā
Lyney rolls his shirt up, bites the end to keep his stomach exposed. If he's going to make a mess, he's going to ensure he doesn't use the damn towels he has to work hard to keep after his shifts. The sound of his wrist hitting the base of his cock is like music to his ears, taking him to places far away from here.Ā
He thinks of it akin to taking Lynette from behind ā where her backside would impact so beautifully to his pelvis.Ā
The tip of his cock weeps pre-cum, sticky against his fingers as he works himself over. Tension in his heart, his mind, his body... they all bring him here. Frustrations beyond what he's ready to accept.
He thinks of Lynette, he always does ā but.
Something else flashes in his mind.
Lyney grunts at the realization that his cock twitches roughly between diligent fingers at the thought of Wriothesley. He can't shake the image from earlier -- bare chest, sweat and that softer way he looked to him. A curious thought annoys him more than he'd like to admit but it doesn't go away.Ā
The boy whimpers out, fingers moving down to cup at the swell of a smooth sac, fondling at himself in addition to his frantic tugs of his cock. He can't help it -- imagining now if Wriothesley'sĀ hands were capable of anything other than fighting.Ā
And he imagines them wrapped around him soon after. Touching at him, squeezing him. What it would feel like to touch Wriothesley in return. ...Would he be cold? Warm, just like Lynette...?
Fuck.
He can't do this -- he tilts his head away, burying into the smoothness of the pillow. Thinking of stubble on the crook of his neck, of rough hands on his body. A few idle bucks up into his grasp gives Lyney all the leeway he needs to chase his orgasm. An arch of his back helps control the angle, when he pitifully finishes on his stomach. It pools just under his belly button, seeping down to the top of his crotch as the boy collapses down in a frantic sweat.Ā
He mutters, as if trying to deny himself ā ]
L-Lynette...
[ It was not Lynette that brought him that pleasure and he was left confused and ashamed. Fuck.
He takes time to clean himself up, using his shirt for sleep that was getting picked up tomorrow morning. Tossing it aside, the boy puts his half-erect cock into his sleepslacks and just curls to his side, looking at the knuckles he had bruised earlier.Ā
It takes little for him to drift off to sleep, all thanks to that comfort he allowed himself... even if it just raised more confusion. ]
no subject
[ Wriothesley takes his leave and leaves Lyney confused. Why was he so... different? He actually didn't want him to go for a moment or two. It was easy to talk to him then, to not feel like he was a little worker bee in an entity he couldn't care less about.
He stays in line. Wakes up, works for coupons, writes his letters, and makes his deal with Wriothesley.
What else is there?
It's a countdown until he's gone... but he couldn't lie to himself that it was nice to actually smile. To feel a little less... alone. He hates how lonely he feels. His frustrations pale in comparison to what he's sure Lynette feels, he has to keep remembering that.
Those letters first delivered echo in his mind. Her bed is cold, after all, and even in his... he feels it. He hasn't slept alone in years and when his soulmate and twin is stripped from his side... there's only so much a boy like him could handle.
There's a vulnerability sproutingĀ in his heart he doesn't like. Fanning flames he didn't need to consume him. Bitterness, anger, frustrations.Ā
What does it boil down to?
He's lonely.
Plain and simple.
When he crawls into the bed for the night in his sleepwear, he didn't think he would be stuck re-reading Lynette's letters. The pile stacked at his side grows more like a mess as he goes through them -- until he allows himself a moment of delusion.Ā
Thinking of how Lynette wouldĀ fill the bed nicely with him, keep him warm... there's no way to avoid his reaction. His cock twitches to life until it's free to the air. It's been months and a gnawing sense of desire calls to him.Ā
Oh, how he wished it was Lynette's fingers wrapping around his cock, from base to tip. How he liked it best ā consumed with want and touch. His fingers hold tight, tugging at himself quickly enough to stifle a moan past his lips. This relief wasn't something he sought out often, but he needs this. He needs to delude himself in thinking of something other than the fear he has inside.
So he channels it in pleasure, in something he believes in ā that he hopes to always give Lynette.Ā
Lyney rolls his shirt up, bites the end to keep his stomach exposed. If he's going to make a mess, he's going to ensure he doesn't use the damn towels he has to work hard to keep after his shifts. The sound of his wrist hitting the base of his cock is like music to his ears, taking him to places far away from here.Ā
He thinks of it akin to taking Lynette from behind ā where her backside would impact so beautifully to his pelvis.Ā
The tip of his cock weeps pre-cum, sticky against his fingers as he works himself over. Tension in his heart, his mind, his body... they all bring him here. Frustrations beyond what he's ready to accept.
He thinks of Lynette, he always does ā but.
Something else flashes in his mind.
Lyney grunts at the realization that his cock twitches roughly between diligent fingers at the thought of Wriothesley. He can't shake the image from earlier -- bare chest, sweat and that softer way he looked to him. A curious thought annoys him more than he'd like to admit but it doesn't go away.Ā
The boy whimpers out, fingers moving down to cup at the swell of a smooth sac, fondling at himself in addition to his frantic tugs of his cock. He can't help it -- imagining now if Wriothesley'sĀ hands were capable of anything other than fighting.Ā
And he imagines them wrapped around him soon after. Touching at him, squeezing him. What it would feel like to touch Wriothesley in return. ...Would he be cold? Warm, just like Lynette...?
Fuck.
He can't do this -- he tilts his head away, burying into the smoothness of the pillow. Thinking of stubble on the crook of his neck, of rough hands on his body. A few idle bucks up into his grasp gives Lyney all the leeway he needs to chase his orgasm. An arch of his back helps control the angle, when he pitifully finishes on his stomach. It pools just under his belly button, seeping down to the top of his crotch as the boy collapses down in a frantic sweat.Ā
He mutters, as if trying to deny himself ā ]
L-Lynette...
[ It was not Lynette that brought him that pleasure and he was left confused and ashamed. Fuck.
He takes time to clean himself up, using his shirt for sleep that was getting picked up tomorrow morning. Tossing it aside, the boy puts his half-erect cock into his sleepslacks and just curls to his side, looking at the knuckles he had bruised earlier.Ā
It takes little for him to drift off to sleep, all thanks to that comfort he allowed himself... even if it just raised more confusion. ]