pikuni | - ic inbox -

Good Stab, yes. I remember. It's Koby. I mean, thats my user name, so, that's obvious. Going without might be the best option. We're locked in here, so I guess it doesn't matter as much. I promise I don't normally open conversations by talking about things like this.

I'm not judging. We all have to find our joy where we can now, yeah?

I suppose, yes. And creative strategies to stay warm. I guess it could be worse. I could've sent you photos by mistake.

Oh. Was this 'sexting'?

Well. I was talking about underwear, in a less-than-strictly-practical sense, but It doesn't have to be?

I have been told I am bad at sexting. But I think this was probably worse. You can't make laundry sexy, Koby.

Hey! I could make it sexy! If I really tried! Sexy naked laundry because I made a mess of the sheets. See? Sexy!!

I think you might have to try a little harder.

I'm cleaning them with Sexy soap? Naked? Is that anything?

Are you fucking the soap????

No, that's very dangerous. Don't put soap inside you.

I think you should just send the picture from now on.

I think you're absolutely right, yes. That was silly. You mean right now, or?

I have concerns. That the picture will be laundry.

I promise the picture won't be laundry. There won't even be any clothes in it. At all.

Okay. I will review your picture. :-)

[he takes a full 7 minutes to pick the best one, but:]

[IMAGE ATTACHMENT]

[now to wait for a good grade in nudes :)]

[on the other end, Good Stab slow blinks at his screen, thumb cresting over the open, hovering over the curve of Koby's ass for a breath. it lingers to the side, his head tilting in quiet consideration, surprised, maybe, to have received it at all.

his first thought is mouse. prey animal trust, or acceptance. he thinks you shouldn't make it this easy, but then he wouldn't have the image to puzzle over, or to appreciate in the solitude of his shared bathroom. his other knuckles dig into his cheek, working slightly against the skin and the bone. ]

This is good lighting. Like the magazines, yeah?

[not like the skin mags on work sites or rest stop shelves. the knuckles keep grinding in, over and over. then: ]

Are you always that wet, Koby?

[circumstances not being what they are (snow, cold, cramped, whipped into a frenzy by three pent-up roommates), koby argues he would've played coy, longer.

but that would be a lie.]

Is it? I don't really read those. I mean, I haven't ever. I just Liked the lighting.

[hot flush, pitching hotter, that urge again -- is that good is that bad is it okay] Sometimes. Not always. It depends what I'm doing.

[what Koby doesn't need to know is that for the entirety of this message, he thinks of being twenty-two winters and having two wives, and three children, and how every year after losing them he would not remarry, or crawl into the bed of anyone else for the twenty-so years after it. his hand and he are familiar lovers, but before this Summer, he hadn't wanted like this in a long time.

what Koby doesn't need to know, either, is that he feels guilty for wanting. he feels it now, because he is a man, and he wants like a man, and his cock kicks to life in his jeans, traitor-reaction to a pert ass and unmarred thighs. his knuckles stop worrying his cheek, fingers fanning out to drag over his face, thumb pushing into an eye as he sighs out loud, hissing out through his teeth. out loud, he whispers an apology to both his wives, and then to his nephew, and then, to himself. ]

Tell me what gets you wet, Koby. Besides the laundry.

[he doesn't know -- for the better, perhaps, because if he did, he'd hate himself for this, more than the usual guilt and squirmy-shameful rush that comes (still) when he does things like this. when accident or chance collides him with someone he's never spoken a word to, and he offers up ass, mouth, cunt, offers what he has because what makes him wet, so wet, wetter than wet is --]

Being commanded. Ordered. Told what to do. And doing it.

That surprises me. You're usually so bossy to everyone else :-).

[observational behaviour, some of which has made him laugh to himself more than once. ]

Will you do as I say now, then?

[knee-jerk, almost: i am not, which in and of itself is bossy. koby swallows it down, sinks deeper into the bath he's soaking in, toes curling against the copper at the question.]

I suppose I like that it's different. When I'm not in control. It's A relief, I guess? Comforting, maybe. I was a Marine, back home.

[then, swiftly:] Yes. I will. If you want to say it, I'll do it.

Where I’m from, Marine is Navy. Is it the same?

[ marine is, as is most things, not of his people. not a history he would claim. but still, it exists, it’s a bridge of sorts. ]

You should only do it if you want to do it.

Oh, sort of? It's Navy and police and government agency and Well. A lot of things I hadn't anticipated when I enlisted.

[is talking about disillusionment with the military complex more or less sexy than laundry.]

I know. I want to. I really, really want to.

[raw earnestness, potentially a turn off, a bleeding need to settle something anxious and snarling with someone's guidance, oversight.]

(no subject)

pikuni - 2025-12-18 21:46 (UTC) - Expand

nsfw

kobes - 2025-12-19 00:39 (UTC) - Expand