[Fuck. He sends the message so quickly he doesn't even notice his own typos until after it's already gone, and by then he's well beyond caring. Lying on his back isn't very conducive to his efforts; fortunately, the couch is wide enough that he can turn onto his side comfortably, sending his loose hair cascading across his eyes as he settles his cheek on the cushion and focuses on the directions he's been given.
It's better when it's Tseng, more artful and also with somewhat less wrist cramping as he shifts and squirms into a position that will serve. It also means it takes him a little longer to do as he's told than he likes, experimenting with depth and angle until at last a sudden flood of pleasure makes him jolt, teeth sinking into his lip as his eyes go half-lidded of their own volition.
His texting arm trembling, he bats ineffectually at the menus until he finds the ability to take a photo, positioning it to frame himself from the shoulders up: curled in on himself, hair askance, pupils dilating, lip bitten red.
He pushes his fingertip against his prostate, and a moment later shoves his thumb against the photo capture button.]
im doing it. For you ,see?
[He sends the text with his picture attached, then drops his watch and closes his eyes, intent on touching himself until he hears it chime again.]
no subject
[Fuck. He sends the message so quickly he doesn't even notice his own typos until after it's already gone, and by then he's well beyond caring. Lying on his back isn't very conducive to his efforts; fortunately, the couch is wide enough that he can turn onto his side comfortably, sending his loose hair cascading across his eyes as he settles his cheek on the cushion and focuses on the directions he's been given.
It's better when it's Tseng, more artful and also with somewhat less wrist cramping as he shifts and squirms into a position that will serve. It also means it takes him a little longer to do as he's told than he likes, experimenting with depth and angle until at last a sudden flood of pleasure makes him jolt, teeth sinking into his lip as his eyes go half-lidded of their own volition.
His texting arm trembling, he bats ineffectually at the menus until he finds the ability to take a photo, positioning it to frame himself from the shoulders up: curled in on himself, hair askance, pupils dilating, lip bitten red.
He pushes his fingertip against his prostate, and a moment later shoves his thumb against the photo capture button.]
im doing it. For you ,see?
[He sends the text with his picture attached, then drops his watch and closes his eyes, intent on touching himself until he hears it chime again.]