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pt. 1

(part 2)

John was going to be home in an hour and Dave was sweating like Texas in July. Maybe if he got off real quick it would take some of the edge off, at least enough to make himself look presentable.

Dave curled up on his side on the bed, knees drawn up close. One hand drifted down his stomach to dip beneath the waistband of his boxers, the other fisted against his teeth to keep quiet in case John came home early. He had already shucked off most of his clothes hours ago. Even the bedsheets felt too coarse and uncomfortable against his oversensitive skin, but he’d just have to deal with that. He wrapped his fingers around his aching cock and gave it a soft squeeze, whimpering into his knuckles. Yeah, he definitely should have done this sooner.

There wasn’t much time to spare so he just got down to business, jerking his fist hurriedly, his hips pushing up into every downstroke and tail thumping against the bed almost rhythmically. The hand against his mouth wasn’t doing much good. He groaned deep in the back of his throat, a week worth of tension growing tighter and tighter, until it felt like he was fit to fucking snap and break into a million little pieces all over the bedspread and-

“Honey, I’m home!” John called out from the foyer, a silly phrase that he had picked up ‘ironically’ even though they both knew he meant it sincerely, the cheesy little fucker. It never failed to make Dave’s heart throb with endearment, but that wasn’t the only thing throbbing either. A sudden spike of lust shot through him and he tensed, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights, his heavy breath quivering unsteadily and heartbeat racing. Even though the door was secured, he couldn’t help but imagine what would happen if John walked in on him right now.

He probably looked like a hot mess, face flushed like an out-of-shape marathon runner on the last mile stretch and hair plastered to his forehead messily with sweat. Would John get embarrassed and close the door with that awkward, twittering laugh of his if he saw Dave trembling with the effort to keep his composure? Or would he want to fuck him? Would he roll Dave over and press his face into the mattress, mount him from behind and make him the goddamn Queen of England? Dave’s knees trembled a little at the thought. Rather than push him over the edge, it only made him feel impossibly hot, too frustrated to be satisfied with his own hand.

(note: a “queen” is like the cat equivalent of a “bitch”)

pt. 3