[ Oh, the baleful look he gets for that. But the press of the gun seems to hold sway over him -- not precisely out of self-preservation -- and he obeys. His hand slows, fingers carefully curling to map out the full length of him under the suit, aware for every moment of Washington's gaze on him.
There's a minute satisfaction to be found in knowing Washington isn't truly rid of his demons after all. For all his plays at self-righteousness...there's a monster inside of him, too. ]
Don't I?
[ Down to the base, palming his balls with a brief flicker of his eyelids, a muted noise low in his throat. Then those fingers smooth upwards again, nailed turned inward if only to add a little more pressure. He has to wonder how Washington would have it, what his hand would feel like instead.
Instead, he plays the voyeur. Locus can understand the appeal, at the very least. It might not have gone so differently, were the tables turned. ]
no subject
There's a minute satisfaction to be found in knowing Washington isn't truly rid of his demons after all. For all his plays at self-righteousness...there's a monster inside of him, too. ]
Don't I?
[ Down to the base, palming his balls with a brief flicker of his eyelids, a muted noise low in his throat. Then those fingers smooth upwards again, nailed turned inward if only to add a little more pressure. He has to wonder how Washington would have it, what his hand would feel like instead.
Instead, he plays the voyeur. Locus can understand the appeal, at the very least. It might not have gone so differently, were the tables turned. ]