PharosK: I know i don't have to but I want 2. it's not every day some1 donates over a month of rent in 1 stream not to mention how u rallied every1 else too
[ He has no way of knowing, but his answer probably doesn't help his viewer's mental image at all. He's just being honest, trying to explain why he wants to do something so out of the ordinary for someone like him.
Well, part of why, anyway. He's not about to own up to the excitement he's feeling, or the contentment curling in his stomach in response to the praise— and he's certainly not about to talk about the curiosity that has surfaced in him more than once, the wonderings about what kind of person this Mister E is.
It's almost like a crush, in a way. Although it's more of a distant one, like the type had on a celebrity he's never met—
He probably shouldn't be encouraging it, really. He's sure that user2.718 sees him the same way everyone else does, deep down: a service. Something to watch— to participate in— to get his own rocks off.
(Though explaining it in such a way takes away from a lot of Mister E's behavior, really—)
He shakes himself out of his thoughts, types one last message: ]
PharosK: neway, i need 2 clean up and get some rest i'll c u 2moro Think abt what u want! xo
[E's fingers stop at the keyboard, pressing backspace with a decided click on his keyboard and watching all of the words in the text bar being eaten one by one.
He had almost gone into a rant of how Pharos should really rest, that he did nothing but what he thought was right for the stream, but there he went and did take E's advice and left to, hopefully, have some R&R.
user2.718 leans back on his chair enough for it to creak and lets the ice pack fall on the floor. When he runs his hand over his face, it's cold enough to almost jolt him awake from the silly little butterflies he's been feeling in his chest.
'Think about what you want.'
The shape of what he wants has just disconnected. He feels embarrassed that something so impersonal like a live stream of someone doing salacious things in front of a camera would get him to want said person and wish that they'd be there in the room, discarding those silly little frills he enjoys wearing so much or at least letting E tear at them. When his fingers reach under the waistband of his lounge pants, he hisses at the cold, at how sensitive he still is, and his mind's eye decides to show him Pharos pressing his knee on his crotch (too much)—reaching to knead at it—and smiling around an appreciative coo, calling him a big boy (inane)—telling him how hard he is already.
How would the streamer be as a kisser? Would he climb onto his lap and cling to him as he pressed sweet kisses? Would he be desperate, hungry, wanting all of him, including his breath? Would he be playful and crown his kisses with little nips? It's hard to say.
But Pharos does seem to enjoy using his mouth, it's not a leap to think of him dropping to his knees before the desk chair and those pretty eyelashes of his casting shadows on his cheekbones as he takes all of him in, more enthusiasm than sense. It gets user2.718 to shift on his seat, groan as he squeezes himself, pulling the skin forward to mute the feeling, then pushing it back, showing how he's already beading at the tip.
user2.718 would tell him to slow down, and to take his time. To savor it. He'd brush his hair away from his face, stroking those handsome cheeks, pinching his earlobes, bunch those locks within his fingers to guide him. Perhaps to hold him still as he thrust inside his mouth. Just enough to keep him on his toes.
The image shifts. Would Pharos be on the giving end, too. How would he act? Would he tease and edge until no end? Would he be tender about it? Rough?
Still, a lot of his streams have him on the receiving end, and he seems to enjoy it. It's not a difficult image to conjure, Pharos' back, his body between user2.718's legs and lining himself up on his cock, hands on E's thighs, sinking slowly onto his length and moving eagerly that perky, round ass, little mewls spilling from his mouth and looking over his shoulder to ask Mister E if it feels good.
He'd pick him up by that sturdy but tapered waist, bring him back, having him arch and lean back against his chest, head lolling back into a gorgeous arch of his neck. He'd maneuver his legs on both armrests of his chair, spread him wide, and thrust up into that heat to have his voice become a staccato of gasps and little jolts.
Pharos would reach back, his mouth open, tilting to lap at him, unable to purse his lips because of the moans that would fall out from his throat, and he'd kiss them away and into himself as he gripped tightly on those hips as he drove himself harder, and Pharos would mindlessly grip at his hair and call out like a mantra Alhaitham, Alhaitham!—
...
He lets the water run for a while before he splashes his face with it, leaning over the sink and looking at himself in the mirror. He's falling into a place most people can't get out of easily.
He takes a deep breath, towels his face dry, pushes the flush button on the toilet, taking all the remnants of something many people fell shameful.
It's a good think he is not 'most people', Alhaitham considers.
But for the time being, he had to get ready to sleep. He has a big day the next morning.]
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sempiternals2023-10-04 01:27 am
no subject
[ He has no way of knowing, but his answer probably doesn't help his viewer's mental image at all. He's just being honest, trying to explain why he wants to do something so out of the ordinary for someone like him.
Well, part of why, anyway. He's not about to own up to the excitement he's feeling, or the contentment curling in his stomach in response to the praise— and he's certainly not about to talk about the curiosity that has surfaced in him more than once, the wonderings about what kind of person this Mister E is.
It's almost like a crush, in a way. Although it's more of a distant one, like the type had on a celebrity he's never met—
He probably shouldn't be encouraging it, really. He's sure that user2.718 sees him the same way everyone else does, deep down: a service. Something to watch— to participate in— to get his own rocks off.
(Though explaining it in such a way takes away from a lot of Mister E's behavior, really—)
He shakes himself out of his thoughts, types one last message: ]
no subject
[E's fingers stop at the keyboard, pressing backspace with a decided click on his keyboard and watching all of the words in the text bar being eaten one by one.
He had almost gone into a rant of how Pharos should really rest, that he did nothing but what he thought was right for the stream, but there he went and did take E's advice and left to, hopefully, have some R&R.
user2.718 leans back on his chair enough for it to creak and lets the ice pack fall on the floor. When he runs his hand over his face, it's cold enough to almost jolt him awake from the silly little butterflies he's been feeling in his chest.
'Think about what you want.'
The shape of what he wants has just disconnected. He feels embarrassed that something so impersonal like a live stream of someone doing salacious things in front of a camera would get him to want said person and wish that they'd be there in the room, discarding those silly little frills he enjoys wearing so much or at least letting E tear at them. When his fingers reach under the waistband of his lounge pants, he hisses at the cold, at how sensitive he still is, and his mind's eye decides to show him Pharos pressing his knee on his crotch (too much)—reaching to knead at it—and smiling around an appreciative coo, calling him a big boy (inane)—telling him how hard he is already.
How would the streamer be as a kisser? Would he climb onto his lap and cling to him as he pressed sweet kisses? Would he be desperate, hungry, wanting all of him, including his breath? Would he be playful and crown his kisses with little nips? It's hard to say.
But Pharos does seem to enjoy using his mouth, it's not a leap to think of him dropping to his knees before the desk chair and those pretty eyelashes of his casting shadows on his cheekbones as he takes all of him in, more enthusiasm than sense. It gets user2.718 to shift on his seat, groan as he squeezes himself, pulling the skin forward to mute the feeling, then pushing it back, showing how he's already beading at the tip.
user2.718 would tell him to slow down, and to take his time. To savor it. He'd brush his hair away from his face, stroking those handsome cheeks, pinching his earlobes, bunch those locks within his fingers to guide him. Perhaps to hold him still as he thrust inside his mouth. Just enough to keep him on his toes.
The image shifts. Would Pharos be on the giving end, too. How would he act? Would he tease and edge until no end? Would he be tender about it? Rough?
Still, a lot of his streams have him on the receiving end, and he seems to enjoy it. It's not a difficult image to conjure, Pharos' back, his body between user2.718's legs and lining himself up on his cock, hands on E's thighs, sinking slowly onto his length and moving eagerly that perky, round ass, little mewls spilling from his mouth and looking over his shoulder to ask Mister E if it feels good.
He'd pick him up by that sturdy but tapered waist, bring him back, having him arch and lean back against his chest, head lolling back into a gorgeous arch of his neck. He'd maneuver his legs on both armrests of his chair, spread him wide, and thrust up into that heat to have his voice become a staccato of gasps and little jolts.
Pharos would reach back, his mouth open, tilting to lap at him, unable to purse his lips because of the moans that would fall out from his throat, and he'd kiss them away and into himself as he gripped tightly on those hips as he drove himself harder, and Pharos would mindlessly grip at his hair and call out like a mantra Alhaitham, Alhaitham!—
...
He lets the water run for a while before he splashes his face with it, leaning over the sink and looking at himself in the mirror. He's falling into a place most people can't get out of easily.
He takes a deep breath, towels his face dry, pushes the flush button on the toilet, taking all the remnants of something many people fell shameful.
It's a good think he is not 'most people', Alhaitham considers.
But for the time being, he had to get ready to sleep. He has a big day the next morning.]