[ In her experience, what sets her apart has also isolated her. It's not a comfort, not that she'd expect that from him. But he can give her distraction. ]
I've changed my mind. Feel free to resume your train of thought.
[ She's not isolated with him. Of course she doesn't take that as a comfort. ]
How gracious.
[ He's changed his mind, too. There are other fantasies he's had all this time. Iterations on iterations, favorite scenarios and permutations. An arsenal of lust.
Lorca cuts a slice from one, just a flash and stab of gut-tightening sensation: her gasp intertwined with his groan, the bedframe slamming rhythmically into the wall, and a leather strap around his bedpost pulled taut. He denies her a glimpse of whose wrist it's tied around, whose body it is that's being rode into bed and who is driving a gouge into the floor with their hips. ]
[ His phone pings not with her response but with a new notification from the same application — it's her turn to be exposed for thinking about him. With that same tight feeling swooping through her belly, her mind fills in the blanks he left her to imagine: her knuckles paled from clutching the strap around her wrist; an attempt to throw her leg around him easily countered by his strength; her thigh pinned back down to the bed with a firm grip; and her voice strained around breathless pleas.
Clinging to optimism, she has to operate under the assumption that her own fantasies are still private. ]
[ Alert read, Lorca sits back at his desk in Victrix. Stiff, teeth clenched, throat dry. He's not distracted — he's been struck. Blow for blow.
But did she fire by choice? Or by instinct?
Her fantasy rolls through him, lapping at the confines of his skin. He adds and alters nothing, even once his mind floats back to the surface. Lorca grabs up the nearby tumbler glass, drains the scotch, then takes his device in hand again. ]
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cryptofascist) wrote2023-08-07 04:42 pm
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[ Stop carrying it, for however brief a time. Give it to him. ]
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I'm still doing it now.
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But not because of you. I chose this.
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You can't be someone you're not, Michael
There is no one like you.
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I've changed my mind.
Feel free to resume your train of thought.
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How gracious.
[ He's changed his mind, too. There are other fantasies he's had all this time. Iterations on iterations, favorite scenarios and permutations. An arsenal of lust.
Lorca cuts a slice from one, just a flash and stab of gut-tightening sensation: her gasp intertwined with his groan, the bedframe slamming rhythmically into the wall, and a leather strap around his bedpost pulled taut. He denies her a glimpse of whose wrist it's tied around, whose body it is that's being rode into bed and who is driving a gouge into the floor with their hips. ]
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Clinging to optimism, she has to operate under the assumption that her own fantasies are still private. ]
That wasn't the same train of thought.
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But did she fire by choice? Or by instinct?
Her fantasy rolls through him, lapping at the confines of his skin. He adds and alters nothing, even once his mind floats back to the surface. Lorca grabs up the nearby tumbler glass, drains the scotch, then takes his device in hand again. ]
Wasn't it?
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Was it for you?