Curate, connect, and discover
[semi-linked to this]
You reach the office door sooner than you intend to, quieter than you expect to. You see him.
You see the way he strokes himself with a rhythm that shows the signs of growing erratic soon, his free hand shaking as it drops from his mouth and grips the arm of his chair…
…you shouldn't be watching this. Something tells you to step back, turn around and go the way you came, to pretend you hadn't seen him in the first place. Rarely did the man ever seem to be granted a chance of privacy, he deserved this indulgence more than anyone--
The notion comes to a halt, sends a deep spark of warm shock through your veins when you catch the furrow of his brow, the tint to his cheeks in the glow of moonlight as, with a gasp of a breath, he moans your name.
Oh.
His free hand shoots back up to muffle his mouth as your name fades to a whimper on his tongue. His head tilts back just so as his hand curls to a fist, knuckles pressed to his lips and neck bare enough to catch his Adam's apple…fuck, he's beautiful like this, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, slacks down to his knees, his waistcoat and shirt unbuttoned just enough to keep his heaving chest from straining against the fabric, hair tussled and sweat along his brow as he pants…
The heat carries itself to you. Fuck. Shit. You feel the need to get out of here before you risk embarrassing both of yourselves--
"Gott, du fühlst dich göttlich…"
Fuck. Shit.