The typing bubbles appear on his side, then vanish, then reappear. Just as they stop again, I’m about to type out that I was, of course, joking—when a photo comes through.
Fuck. Me.
Every which way to Hell.
It’s a picture of his lower stomach, angled downward. He’s wearing plaid sleep pants—the fabric thin enough to make out a subtle outline—and either he’s holding up his shirt so I can see the slight flex of muscle before his boxers take over, or he isn’t wearing one at all.
I pray he isn’t, and in my mind, I picture him lying there on his back, half-naked in bed.
At least he spared me the view of any pronounced bulge in his pants. I don’t know what I’d do—if just this simple photo has my cock pushing up my sweats, I’d probably come right in my briefs.
My phone buzzes, yanking me out of thoughts of dragging down his bottoms to have him completely bare.
Ayden
Your turn. You can’t leave me hanging
Something is hung that’s for sure.
I’m wearing your favorite sweats
Bold, I know, but really… I want him to beg for it. That’s fucked up, considering he just offered what he’s wearing. But hey, I did say tell, not show.
Not that I’m complaining in the slightest.
Ayden
Now that’s mean
Please?
Imagining him say that really,really, has my abdomen tied into knots.
Please via text just doesn’t have the same effect I’m afraid
But, you’ve seen them before. You know, the gray sweats I feel are your favorite. No shirt, of course
There are no typing bubbles this time—just a small microphone icon that pops up briefly. A short, two-second voice note comes through, and I let out a frustrated groan.
I don’t hesitate to press play.
“Show me, Keo, please…” His breathless plea has me reaching down and squeezing my cock over my pants.
Since you asked so nicely, sunshine…
I move the phone to a good position to snap a photo, and make sure the flash is on. No, I don’t hide my erection. I want him to see what he does to me, to know that I, too, yearn for him. Even if I think it’s pretty obvious.
The moment the flash goes off, so does the alarm.
Ayden
I think maybe I went too far.
It’s been about twenty minutes, and I haven’t received anything.
I’m an adult. I won’t freak out—he’s at work. The logical part of me knows he could be called to rescue a cat stuck in a tree or respond to a house fire at any moment. That, or he fell asleep. Imean, he made it seem like he had a rough day…
Sure, I’d hoped for a glimpse of whatever he’s wearing, but my imagination is enough. I do love him in those sweats. Especially when he wears them low…
