[ he knows exactly what it means when all he gets is a clipped "ok" in response, and that's nice. wash does wish he could see him now, desperate and writhing in that office chair, and thankfully he did ask for a picture and gets a pretty snapshot of it. a bit haphazard but that only makes it more appealing for how obviously unposed it is compared to what eddie was sending before, clearly having better things to do and think about now. he can see more of him, his shirt pulled up most of the way over his body, his face, those curls -- wash recognizes him almost instantly, yes he had seen him at the concert. from afar, never up close, maybe a few times in passing when he's visited jolene's before. good to put a face to a name, a name to a face.
his eyes roam down the stretch of his belly, to his cock, clearly painfully hard, both hands on himself and stroking. he can tell from the picture that he's trying to go slowly, trying, how sweet and obedient of him, and he can feel that heat stirring in him, his eyes lidded as he considers the picture, pumping his hand slowly over his own cock. imagining just what it'll be like to push him against a wall, close a hand over his mouth, whisper into his ear.
this silence lasts a while, too. slightly on purpose, but also just to let himself admire that picture for a little bit. he doesn't keep pictures for long, paranoid enough to delete most things off of his device when he can remember things anyway, but maybe this one will stay for a little bit, just to show eddie later that he has it.
when eddie finally gets another reply: it's an image. wash's cock, thick and hard, framed between muscled thighs, the strength of him still noticeable even through the denim. there's a noticeable glob of precome drooling from the head. his hands aren't in the fame, just a bit of an arm as he holds the device to take a picture, and it's far from enough to identify him by but enough to get a sense of his size and bulk, wearing a plain black shirt riding up just slightly with the way he's sitting, enough to show a sliver of skin and a glimpse of the hardened muscle of his abdomen, a faint tracing of scars. ]
no subject
his eyes roam down the stretch of his belly, to his cock, clearly painfully hard, both hands on himself and stroking. he can tell from the picture that he's trying to go slowly, trying, how sweet and obedient of him, and he can feel that heat stirring in him, his eyes lidded as he considers the picture, pumping his hand slowly over his own cock. imagining just what it'll be like to push him against a wall, close a hand over his mouth, whisper into his ear.
this silence lasts a while, too. slightly on purpose, but also just to let himself admire that picture for a little bit. he doesn't keep pictures for long, paranoid enough to delete most things off of his device when he can remember things anyway, but maybe this one will stay for a little bit, just to show eddie later that he has it.
when eddie finally gets another reply: it's an image. wash's cock, thick and hard, framed between muscled thighs, the strength of him still noticeable even through the denim. there's a noticeable glob of precome drooling from the head. his hands aren't in the fame, just a bit of an arm as he holds the device to take a picture, and it's far from enough to identify him by but enough to get a sense of his size and bulk, wearing a plain black shirt riding up just slightly with the way he's sitting, enough to show a sliver of skin and a glimpse of the hardened muscle of his abdomen, a faint tracing of scars. ]
Hard as you want, now.
Come for me.