The theater was dark, flooded with music, but Jimmy couldn’t even remember what performance they had come to see.
Cold’s hand down his pants was too much of a distraction.
They were in a private box, high above the stage, but Jimmy still felt like everyone could see them and knew exactly what they were doing.
It made him hot, sweating all around his collar and down the small of his back.
Cold’s fingers were one of the most sensual parts of his body: long, nimble, beautifully shaped, and always flawlessly manicured.
He always did it himself, refusing to let anyone touch him, spending exactly thirty-two minutes filing and trimming and buffing them to perfection.
Jimmy loved watching him. It was another of Cold’s many meticulous rituals that he enjoyed being privy to.
Knowing how perfect those fingers were wrapping about his cock made the act even more sensual. He knew each little cuticle, all the bends of his knuckles, and he had the curve of the pads of his fingers committed to memory.
The theater was slipping away; he was enslaved by Cold’s beautiful touch, the tension in his body starting to rapidly build. “Rod,” he murmured. “That feels... that feels really nice.”
“What does?” Cold said innocently, his focus still on the stage despite what his hand was up to.
“Ah, right,” Jimmy chuckled, already breathless. “Of course. Your hand isn’t actually jerking me off right now. I must be imagining it.”
“Absolutely,” Cold confirmed, his hand tightening down.
The new pressure made Jimmy gasp in surprise, and his face grew hotter.
Cold’s strokes began to move with the music, moving faster as the tempo increased and then slowing down to a crawl when the music fell into a soft lull.
Jimmy was honestly doing his best not to draw any attention, but it was getting harder to stay quiet. When the music was loud, it wasn’t so bad. He felt confident that his gasps and moans were being swallowed up in the symphony.
But when the melody became quiet or stopped altogether, Jimmy found himself biting his lip or trying to smother the sound into the heel of his hand.
Cold was totally fearless. He didn’t seem at all concerned about being caught. In fact, the more Jimmy tried to stifle his voice, the harder he worked to hear him.
Jimmy tried to muffle himself into the crook of his arm, moaning as Cold continued to relentlessly stroke him. He wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer, protesting, “Rod. I... I can’t...”
“Can’t what?” Cold asked calmly.
“I can’t stop... I’m...!” Jimmy whimpered, collapsing in his seat as he felt himself approaching the edge. He closed his eyes, crying out as he came. He shuddered helplessly, not even caring in that moment who heard him shout.
“There you go. My good boy.” Cold worked him through it with long, precise strokes.
Jimmy quickly reached a heightened level of sensitivity, pleading urgently, “Rod, mmph, please.”
Cold pulled away and licked off his hand, his eyes focused on the show. The only evidence of what he had done now remained in his smug smile.
Jimmy drifted down from the heavens and clumsily tucked himself away, grinning as he said, “Hell of a fucking show.”
“Oh?” Cold said, his lips wrapping around his thumb for one last suck before curling into a smirk. “Mmm, I hadn’t noticed.”
