Curious, he stares at the hole in the wall, wondering as to its purpose while knowing that he isn't quite that innocent. The hole is about level with his groin, and more than wide enough to accommodate a fist. The words "Try Me!" are sloppily painted above the hole in bold, black ink, dried dribbles lending it an uneasy feel. Surely.... He shakes his head, and doesn't think it possible. Though, this place is rather seedy, and okay, that couple most definitely hadn't just been embracing closely while pressed up against a wall, and alright, maybe the sounds coming from the edges of the dance floor weren't part of his imagination, but the signs leading into the washrooms are innocent enough, aren't they?
He shoves a hand through his hair.
Lowering himself to his knees, he peers through the hole on the stall wall - or at least, attempts to before a hand slams over it and blocks his view, leaving him with nothing more than a brief flash of blond hair. Jerking back, he eyes the palm pressed against the wall on the opposite side, noting that it is smooth and the calluses on it indicate that the owner of said hand must make his living flying. He swallows; a Quidditch player. A fantasy of his, particularly when it comes to one specific person. His knees shake a little as he stands and dusts off his trousers.
The hand pressed against the wall disappears, and a finger pokes through to beckon at him. Throat dry, he fumbles with the fastenings to his jeans for a moment before stepping close to the wall. Breathing deep, and hardly daring to believe he is about to do this, he presses his pelvis forward until it meets the cold metal of the stall and his cock slides through the hole.
A warm hand grasps the base of his cock, thumb smoothing over the underside and rubbing along the vein as the hand squeezes rhythmically. The hand slides down his length, fingers teasing the foreskin and playing around the edges of where the head appears. A shiver shoots down his spine as a finger presses gently against the slit. He rests his cheek against the stall, the chill of the metal a relief on his hot skin. Pressing against the wall, he groans as the fingers slide back up the shaft to fondle his sac, then further behind to press against his perineum. His hips jerk, his legs spread and he presses as far forward as he is able, hands clasping on the top of the stall in a white-knuckled grip. There is a faint chuckle from the other side of the stall, and a ghost of breath before the head of his cock is engulfed in a hot mouth.
"Oh god," he hisses, and bites his lip.
There’s a muffled moan around from around his cock, and the vibrations are felt to the tip of his toes. A tongue flickers around the head and tease the slit, before his cock is swallowed down, the throat relaxed and allowing for him to thrust his hips and fuck that sinful mouth slowly, steadily.
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timeasmymeasure
Now or Never
Date: 2011-10-01 12:46 am (UTC)He shoves a hand through his hair.
Lowering himself to his knees, he peers through the hole on the stall wall - or at least, attempts to before a hand slams over it and blocks his view, leaving him with nothing more than a brief flash of blond hair. Jerking back, he eyes the palm pressed against the wall on the opposite side, noting that it is smooth and the calluses on it indicate that the owner of said hand must make his living flying. He swallows; a Quidditch player. A fantasy of his, particularly when it comes to one specific person. His knees shake a little as he stands and dusts off his trousers.
The hand pressed against the wall disappears, and a finger pokes through to beckon at him. Throat dry, he fumbles with the fastenings to his jeans for a moment before stepping close to the wall. Breathing deep, and hardly daring to believe he is about to do this, he presses his pelvis forward until it meets the cold metal of the stall and his cock slides through the hole.
A warm hand grasps the base of his cock, thumb smoothing over the underside and rubbing along the vein as the hand squeezes rhythmically. The hand slides down his length, fingers teasing the foreskin and playing around the edges of where the head appears. A shiver shoots down his spine as a finger presses gently against the slit. He rests his cheek against the stall, the chill of the metal a relief on his hot skin. Pressing against the wall, he groans as the fingers slide back up the shaft to fondle his sac, then further behind to press against his perineum. His hips jerk, his legs spread and he presses as far forward as he is able, hands clasping on the top of the stall in a white-knuckled grip. There is a faint chuckle from the other side of the stall, and a ghost of breath before the head of his cock is engulfed in a hot mouth.
"Oh god," he hisses, and bites his lip.
There’s a muffled moan around from around his cock, and the vibrations are felt to the tip of his toes. A tongue flickers around the head and tease the slit, before his cock is swallowed down, the throat relaxed and allowing for him to thrust his hips and fuck that sinful mouth slowly, steadily.
Continued