“What are you thinking about?” Cameron asked, digging deep into his memory banks for any sort of sexy talk.
“You,” Emory growled, and the slapping sound sped up.
“What about me?” Cameron asked, pressing his hand and forehead firmly against the wood.
“Kissing you,” Emory ground out.
Cameron couldn’t help but laugh. “I think about kissing you too, when I…when I touch myself.”
The door shook, and it sounded like Emory had slammed his shoulders or back against it. “You think about me? When you touch yourself?”
Cameron whimpered, but he wasn’t sure if Emory could hear it through the door. Just to make sure, he whimpered again, but louder.
Emory made a low noise, almost like a purr but deeper. “Do you wear…those pretty panties when you think of me?”
“Yes,” Cameron admitted. “I’m wearing them now, too.”
“Oh, fuck. Will…will you describe them to me? Please?”
A flush ran from Cameron’s hairline all the way down his face. He’d never heard Emory curse before, and for somereason, it shot through him like lightning. While he knew what his panties looked like, he suddenly felt desperate to be out of his pants. He reached down and pulled off the light blue leggings he’d bought the week before. They were soft and just a touch feminine, which made Cameron nearly bubble over with happiness. They were nothing compared to the panties, though. Those were straight sin, and he was thankful something had made him put them on that morning.
“They’re red. Bright cherry red. They’re cut high on my thighs, and are all lace in the back.”
“I bet they make your ass look incredible.”
Cameron giggled, something he hadn’t done for years until meeting Emory. “I mean…I think they do. And they have a bit of satin that cups me. It rubs and feels really good when I get…”
Cameron trailed off, unsure if now was really a good time for body and gender admissions.
“When you what?” Emory asked.
“Uhm…I don’t really like to say things like…hard or erection for my part.”
Emory's breathing was coming fast, yet his next question was steady. “Tell me what you prefer.”
“Well…this is all in my head, like, I don’t usually talk to other people about my…uhm, I call all of my external bits my parts. And I prefer to say I’m turned on, or I’m wet—either my hole or the tip of my part.”
“Perfect,” Emory growled. “You’re so perfect. Thank you for telling me.”
Cameron squirmed, pressing the heel of his hand against his crotch again. He let out a whimper when the lace rubbed his wet tip.
“Are you getting wet for me right now?” Emory asked.
“Yes,” Cameron said, just loud enough to carry through the door.
Emory growled, so low it made the whole door shake. The slapping noise sped up for a few seconds, and then Emory cried out sharply, and the apartment fell silent.
“Did you come for me?” Cameron asked, disturbing the momentary stillness.
“Honey, anytime I come, it's for you,” Emory said, sounding a little breathless.
Cameron whined and grabbed himself through his panties. “Please, Emory…let me in.”
Emory shifted against the door, and then the slapping noise started up again. “I can’t right now. Have to get through this round—ahhhh.”
Cameron slipped his hand into his underwear and slowly began stroking. “Okay, I hear you. We can stay here together.”
“Are you touching yourself, too? Tell me.”
