#the sweatbox

[the-plot-blog-thing]

For Fun: Here's My Favorite Disney Songs That Were Deleted/Changed In The Final Film (Part 5)

Eventually, the Disney executives decided the film wasn't working, and called for a complete retool. Roger Allers left, leaving Cats Don't Dance director Mark Dindal as the sole director on the film. The film became a buddy comedy, road-trip Looney Tunes-esque film set in ancient Peru, known as Kingdom in the Sun, later known by release as The Emperor's New Groove. All of Sting and David Hartley's songs were cut, but they stayed on to write "Perfect World", Kuzco's theme for the beginning and end of the film, and "My Funny Friend and Me' which is the end credits song. However, at one point, Yzma was going to have her own reprise of "Perfect World". About halfway through the film, after Kuzco's fake funeral would've been when this reprise would've taken place. (The fact that Eartha Kitt does not sing in the final film at all is the biggest problem of Emperor's New Groove)

(If you do get the chance, check out the documentary "The Sweatbox" on Internet Archive. It documents the crazy development of this film, and Disney intentionally tried to bury it as it made their execs look bad. It's very interesting, so give it a watch!)

Tangled and Frozen were both in development for a significantly long time for Disney movie standards. Back when Tangled was called Rapunzel, songwriter Chris Curtis wrote these two songs based on an early draft: "All That I've Done for You" and "Are There Girls In The World Like Me?"

For the final film, there was a cut reprise of "When Will My Life Begin" and "Mother Knows Best" was also longer initially.

Alan Menken wrote an early song for Frozen called "Love Can't Be Denied" back when the film was called The Snow Queen

Finally, my personal favorite cut song from Frozen by the Lopez's is "Life's Too Short" which was replaced by the "First Time in Forever" reprise in the final film. I like how the sibling energy feels between Anna and Elsa here.

That's all the songs I'm gonna cover here, but there are plenty more. Alice in Wonderland had like two movie's worth of cut songs to go through. But thank you for indulging in my wordy nerd posts!

[bluriginals]

i understand. i understand that ideas change, deadlines need to be met, and that you can't be precious. but if eartha kitt dropped Snuff Out the Light on my movie the entire thing would be built around that. 

[eekwinn]

Watching the documentary "The Sweatbox" on the creation of Kingdom of the Sun, and eventually The Emperor's New Groove. What immediately caught my eye is the lack of any diversity in the creative team - directors, animators, writers, musicians were all white men trying to write a story of the indigenous people of South America! On top of all of that, they had too many plots in one movie (romance, magic, prince/pauper swap, musical) - no wonder it didn't work as originally thought. Many of Sting's songs are too relaxed or slow for what the movie became so them being cut was the right choice.

Would that have been different if any women or people of color had been involved in the early days? Would it have stayed a musical? Would it have kept a more complex plot?

With all the said, I really enjoy The Emperor's New Groove and I think it has come to be seen as a good film.

[patzweigz]

watching the frozen 2 documentary and it really is just. all the more fascinating that disney buried the sweatbox as they did

because functionally they're very similar? sweatbox is of course more focused on sting, and i suppose with him being a very critical outsider to the film making process (along with just nakedly showing the reality of the disney artists as well) is probably why only a sliver of it has been released officially. the frozen 2 doc is just the sweatbox but sanatized to prop up rather than examine the disney machine...

and yet. because of the inherent messy nature of making corporate art, it can never be fully sanitized. there are raw kernels of insight just waiting to pop under the surface, those that had fully bloomed in the sweatbox. and even as mild as they are (perhaps the only incendiary thing that happens in the doc is the swearing), they betray the corporate mythos and thus can never be broadcasted. just... little things, even, like andreas deja choosing to leave emperor's new groove after the shuffle, betray the narrative that disney so badly wants people to buy into...

but even the frozen 2 doc, as manufactured as it is, displays the falliblity of the system. the fact that with less than a year left to release-- with a trailer released --the story was still being ironed out... it's a wonder that emperor's new groove was able to be what it was despite enduring similar circumstances

[mikejudge]

i don't talk about it enough but yzma is like one of my favorite characters ever i love her evil ass

[mywifeleftme]

292: Various Artists // Abstract Magazine Issue 5

Abstract Magazine Issue 5 Various Artists 1985, Sweatbox Just got up to flip the record after sitting cross-legged on the couch typing on my laptop for quite a bit, not realizing my leg had fallen asleep until I tried to plant on it and had to pinwheel my arms to keep from falling flat out and cracking my head into my turntable. Absolutely how the coroner will shoot my body someday too, ass-naked and alone on the floor of my apartment, surrounded by instruments I can’t play and books I haven’t gotten to, bleeding into my record collection with a scythe propped sardonically against the wall in the background.

Speaking of ignominious deaths, while doing some research on the compiler of today’s record, a post-punk compilation / fanzine combo from 1985, the first thing that came up was a 2007 post from Burl Veneer’s old Typepad blog, specifically this inimitable sentence: “Abstract was the brainchild of Rob Deacon, who died last month in a canoeing accident at age 42 (same as me).” Strange nautical coincidence that, and a neat trick for Burl to keep blogging after death too (in fact, he’s still at it here on Tumblr), but I kept link hopping, and have learned that Deacon was quite a special guy, and a pivotal figure in two or three generations of UK music.

There’s genuine fondness and grief in The Guardian obit, the kind they reserve for lesser-known people who busted their asses and made a difference behind the scenes in media, and they spell out a resume I’m a little ashamed not to have been more up on. He was in his late teens when he started Abstract magazine, profiling the cream of the post-punk crop and cajoling exclusive tracks out of a bunch of them. Abstract would eventually morph into his own label, the influential Sweatbox, but the magazine + compilation bug stuck with him, and he’d go on to start the CD-era Volume series, which moved real numbers for an indie comp and featured… Jesus, everybody, apparently. He followed that up with the groundbreaking Trance Europe Express and Trance Atlantic electronic compilations, became a dance night impresario, did music photography, started a label (Deviant)… and then he fell out of his fuckin’ boat. Damn.

Abstract #5 is a real time capsule of 1985, featuring songs and interviews with the likes of Swans, Gene Loves Jezebel, Cindytalk, Colourbox, and the Jazz Butcher, interspersed with record reviews, scene reports, comics and more. The written pieces are all over the place stylistically, some transcribed in a borderline-incoherent fashion, others fighting for their lives against the adventurous two-tone printed layouts, but it has a wonderful fanzine energy and a level of ballsy spite you don’t see much these days.

Nearly every artist has a bone to pick with their label or journalists or bands they used to like that sold out or fans who have any sort of expectations of them. (The editorial pages get into it too, describing Morrissey “prancing daffodilously” and previewing a new New Order tune called “I’ve Got a Cock Like the M1,” which would see daylight as “The Perfect Kiss.”)

It’s zany and vulnerable and, even just shy of 40 years later, totally inspiring stuff. Highlights include Swans’ Michael Gira’s typically serial killer-coded interview, in which he talks about watching TV for 14 hours a day and shares the trans body horrific lyrics to a song called “BASTARD” that would eventually come out during the band’s maniac 1986; an account from industrial music pioneers Test Dept of the ’84 miner’s strike in South Wales, with a photo of one member who appears to have two sets of upper teeth like a shark; and the 400 Blows talking about having recorded their contribution to the issue in an echoing drainage pipe in which they nearly became trapped and drowned.

Musically this is by design a mixed bag (side one is kind of the uncommercial, experimental bits; side two the peppier guitar pop stuff). None of these exclusives would make anyone’s definitive collection of any of these bands, but as a complete listening and reading experience, Abstract #5 is a beautiful celebration. Cheers to Rob.

292/365

[thanks4themurmurs]

Sting once described Disney as “an organization that seems to want to take the best of different cultures suck them up and spit them out into something that’s like a hamburger.”

And I think that’s beautifully accurate.

[justsome-di]

I’m making a deal with myself that if I get one of my homework assignments done tonight, I get to watch The Sweatbox before bed

[perchingominouslysmwh]

...I’m convinced that sleep deprivation is it’s own kinda drug-

[riddlerosehearts]

thinking about how people who watch the emperor's new groove and somehow come out of it shipping pacha and kuzco, or thinking yzma only became evil when kuzco fired her and that she would've been a better ruler than him, are both so wrong in so many different ways and are also missing one of the things that i absolutely love about the movie. which is that, the way i see it, pacha and yzma are counterparts. as parental figures to kuzco.

like, just to get this out of the way first, yzma was a dismissive asshole to a peasant whose family was starving. and yeah, if kuzco had been in her place he definitely would've also done that, which... is why she would not be a better ruler than him. she'd just be the same because they're both horrible people in the exact same ways. her reaction to being fired is to plot murder, and as soon as his funeral is over she sets everyone to work on replacing paintings of kuzco with paintings of herself and covering the palace with imagery that makes it clear that it's all about her now. i'm not even sure why this is a discussion tbh.

and also, kuzco is literally a teenager. he's barely 18 years old. source: in the movie, yzma says at his funeral that kuzco was "taken from us so tragically on the very eve of his eighteenth birthday." she also claims in the movie to have "practically raised" him, to which kronk replies "yeah, you'd think he would've turned out better". and sure, she could be exaggerating, but what evidence do we have that she is? we learn absolutely nothing of his parents, who are never mentioned even once in the movie, or of anyone else who could've raised him, and she's his advisor who for some reason sees no problem with attending to royal duties in his place. most likely because she's his regent. also, i'm not exactly a fan of the sequel tv series "the emperor's new school" but it does have something that backs up my point: kuzco is revealed to be an orphan and just before his father went and got lost at sea, he asked yzma (who was also his advisor) to take care of kuzco if anything happened to him. so, yeah, the writers who worked on the series clearly thought that yzma genuinely did raise kuzco, and nothing in the movie contradicts this.

and i find the idea of her being his only parental figure for pretty much his whole childhood incredibly interesting because, and this also goes back into why she wouldn't be a better ruler than him--she mirrors him as a reflection of what would've become of him if he'd never met pacha. they're both incredibly arrogant, power-hungry, selfish, and cruel, with a tendency to blame their problems on everyone but themselves. yzma was even originally going to have her own reprise of kuzco's theme song "perfect world", which i really wish had been kept:

[ID: Lyrics that read:

I'Il be the sovereign queen of the nation And the chicest chick in creation I'm the cat with all the cream and ooh-la-la This deadly concentration Will put an end to my frustration Now this perfect world begins and ends with moi

What's my name? Yzma, Yzma, Yzma Yzma (what's my name?) Yzma, Yzma (What'd you say?) Yzma (Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!) Yzma. End ID]

(this song can be fully heard in "the sweatbox", the documentary about the making of the movie, and is also on youtube btw)

anyway, i'm sure yzma would not exactly have been the most nurturing or hands-on guardian, especially given that she and kuzco don't exactly treat each other like family. but it makes a lot of sense to think that her behavior influened kuzco's throughout the years. and for the entire movie, she remains determined to kill him. when he tries to reason with her and admits that he should've been nicer, she says the same thing to him that he originally said when he fired her. she never grows or changes and in the end, she hurts the one person who was willing to stand by her (and even then, kronk had never fully been on board with her plan) and he ends up trying to crush her with a chandelier. kuzco on the other hand is able to realize the error of his ways, come to regret who he was in the past, and start taking steps toward being a better person. his theme song gets a reprise where it's changed from a song about one person being the center of the world to a Power Of Friendship song. why? because, as i've already mentioned, he has pacha.

pacha, who similarly to both yzma and kuzco is in a position of authority as the leader of the village but unlike either of them is gentle and humble. who isn't afraid to stand up to kuzco and be honest with him even though he's the emperor, who agrees to take him back to the palace but has no obligation to be so helpful, kind, and caring toward him--and just about every reason not to be--and still chooses to be anyway. pacha who is 45 years old (also stated in the sweatbox documentary) and can see that kuzco is practically still a kid, not a single day over 18, who has time to grow and change. pacha, who already has a wife and two kids with another on the way, but practically treats kuzco like one of his own. who acknowledges that if kuzco dies all his problems will be gone and then still worries about him and goes out of his way to rescue him after he wanders into the jungle. who sees kuzco shivering at night and covers him with his poncho, who carries him when he's genuinely too weak to keep walking, who refuses to give up on him even after repeatedly being betrayed by him because he believes there's good in everyone.

also, while yzma ends up repeating kuzco's harsh words of dismissal as she tells him of her plans to kill him, kuzco had previously repeated pacha's words that "nobody's that heartless" after he saved pacha's life. and as the movie progresses kuzco and pacha's relationship becomes more and more equal and is constantly contrasted by moments of yzma being cruel and unappreciative of kronk's kindness. a good example of this is how kronk is constantly being forced to carry yzma everywhere on his back while yzma literally walks all over him and steps on his hands when she gets down, whereas when pacha briefly carries kuzco after the latter collapses he tells him he'll have to walk the rest of the way later and kuzco doesn't even protest.

idk if i'm even explaining well what i'm trying to say here. but basically, if yzma actually raised kuzco and contributed to his current behavior, then she and pacha both are figures who guided him and helped him grow. only yzma helped him become the tyrant that he was at the start of the movie, who was selfish and callous and saw everyone else as beneath him. whereas pacha helped him see the value in being selfless and considerate of others. and in the end, yzma is stuck as a cat and nobody is concerned about her. kronk has found a new job that makes him genuinely happy, while kuzco has decided to build a hut on the hill next to pacha's and effectively joined his family. in the sweatbox documentary it's even mentioned that chicha and the kids were at risk of being removed from the film, but it was decided that they needed to be there because having just pacha as a single guy who lived alone wasn't interesting enough--kuzco needed to go from having basically an empty world where he had nobody to being able to come together with pacha's whole family. and i just think that's incredibly satisfying and beautiful. it also leads up to one of the few things i really do enjoy about the emperor's new school, which is the fact that during the show kuzco moves in with pacha and chicha and pretty explicitly thinks of them as basically his parents while he's like a son to them.

idk. i feel like my mind went in a million different directions while i was writing all this. but i guess i just think that for all of the praise the emperor's new groove gets for its comedy and for how hilarious yzma and kronk in particular are as a duo, the movie also has a lot of genuine heart that gets overlooked. kuzco's character growth and his unique dynamic with pacha is, for me, really what elevates the movie from just a funny movie that i like to one of my favorite disney movies. and i wish more people appreciated that aspect of it and saw it as a found family story in the same way that treasure planet, brother bear, and lilo and stitch are all found family stories.

[alwaysmicado]

Wet

3.3k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 2

Warnings: no outbreak au, implied age gap, smut: pussy sliding, unprotected piv, choking, creampie, public sex, pet names, degradation/praise, soft!dom Joel, aftercare Summary: You run into Joel at the gym. Seeing him all sweaty in his gym shorts turns you on, so you fuck him in the whirpool. A/N: Get your favorite protein shake ready, make sure to stay hydrated, and have fun! 💦 Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 🖤 series masterlist / AO3

“Mmm, I’d know that beautiful ass anywhere,” a deep voice behind you murmurs. You duck your head to look at Joel’s shoes through your spread legs. “This your signature move, Miller? Perving on girls in the gym at night?” You hear him chuckle, “Only you, baby.”

It’s 98°F today and your AC died five days ago. You’ve been too busy with work to call someone to fix it for you, so you’re currently lounging on your couch in your panties and a white tank top, beads of sweat forming on your face and chest, fanning yourself with an envelope that used to contain a wedding invite from your co-worker. It’s far too hot in your apartment and the prospect of spending your whole weekend in this sweatbox is giving you a headache. Since it’s already 8pm on a Friday, there’s zero chance you can get your AC fixed before tomorrow, and that’s if someone’s available on such short notice. 

You sigh and get up to pour yourself a glass of water. It’s ice cold after sitting in your fridge all day and cools you down nicely from the inside. Your phone lights up with a message from your gym, notifying you of a promotion they're offering for their new line of protein shakes. The gym is two blocks away from your apartment and has a big indoor pool. Why not, you think. Do a quick workout and then cool off in the water. Sounds like a plan.

The girl at the gym’s front desk greets you cheerily and compliments your shorts. They’re bright pink and make your ass look incredible. You thank her and go to the locker room to change shoes and stow your bag. You take your towel and water bottle with you and go to the main room with all the cardio and strength equipment to do a warm-up before running a few miles. The room is empty save for a handful of people doing their own thing.

You lay your towel down on the mat and start doing a few yoga poses to stretch all of your tense muscles. When you’re going into the Downward Dog pose, you exhale deeply and try to let go of all the stress that’s been weighing you down lately. Work, the heat, your family, your life- 

“Mmm, I’d know that beautiful ass anywhere,” a deep voice behind you murmurs. You duck your head to look at Joel’s shoes through your spread legs. “This your signature move, Miller? Perving on girls in the gym at night?” You hear him chuckle, “Only you, baby.”

You sigh deeply and get up. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing here on a Friday night, hm?” Joel asks, taking a swig from his shaker and licking his lips. Now that you’re getting a good look at him, you can only stare for a few seconds. He looks sinfully handsome in his black shirt and gym shorts, his hair already a bit wet and disheveled from a previous workout.

“My AC’s broken,” you eventually find your words, “I’m just here to cool off in the pool.” Joel furrows his brow and tilts his head, “Why didn’t you tell me? You know what I do for work.” You give him a smile, “It just went out a few hours ago, no big deal. I’ll call someone tomorrow.” Joel looks at you for a second before nodding. “Alright, sweetheart, gotta do my next set. And you keep doing those beautiful poses,” he winks at you, “giving me all sorts of ideas.” 

You resume your yoga routine and try to concentrate on your breathing again. It’s no use. All you can focus on is Joel’s biceps and triceps flexing a few feet away from you, sweat running down his neck, his strained face, the way his big hands grip the weights. Oh, and his spread legs in those slutty shorts he’s wearing. You could just sit between them and blow him while he’s doing his workout. Or straddle him while he’s sitting on the bench, rubbing yourself on his hard cock, your bodies separated by the thin material of your shorts only. 

You can feel wetness seeping out of your pulsing pussy and pooling in your synthetic thong. You press your legs together, flex your abdomen and stretch your torso to try and distract yourself from your burning arousal, but it doesn’t work. You can’t concentrate on anything but your throbbing clit and the fact that your cunt should be clenching around Joel’s thick cock right now instead of nothing. Your heart is racing and your skin is on fire. 

When you sit up and spread your legs, you realize that there’s a visible wet spot on your shorts. Joel is taking a sip from his shaker when his eyes lock with yours and then drop down to your exposed core. His brow furrows, eyes wide when he chokes a little on the thick liquid going down his throat. He tries to play it cool, but you’re already giggling smugly. He glowers at you, but you just bite your lip and tilt your head. He is too easy sometimes. 

You turn around, get on all fours and present Joel with a perfect view of your ass and the damp fabric hugging your folds when you move into Downward Dog again. You make sure to hold the position for a few long seconds before getting back on your hands and knees again, moving into Cat and Cow. After a few repetitions of those poses, you can hear weights hitting the floor rather aggressively.

“You need it that bad, huh?” Joel is standing in front of you now, his erection clearly visible through the thin fabric of his shorts. You look up at his face, feigning innocence, “No idea what you’re talking about.” Joel scoffs, “All you need to do is ask nicely, darlin’. No need to act like a desperate whore.” He crouches down and grabs your chin roughly to force you to look into his dark eyes. “Or is that what you are, hm? A desperate whore showing everyone what a mess she made in her pants?”

Fuck, it turns you on when he talks to you like this. You look up at him with big eyes and bite your lip. “Hmm, poor baby can’t even use her words anymore,” he tuts mockingly, tracing your lips with his thumb. “It’s okay, baby. I know what you need.”

Joel releases your chin and gets up to stand above you. “Tell me what you are and I’ll give you what you need. Simple as that, darlin’.” You’d usually try to defy him, but your physical need for him to fuck you outweighs any and all inclinations to be a brat right now. “I’m a desperate whore for your cock, sir,” you purr, batting your eyelashes. “Yeah, that’s right,” Joel smirks, palming himself over his shorts. “Time for a swim, don’t you think?”

—---

The water looks beautiful. Turquoise, clean, cool. Joel dims the lights and closes the door behind you two. There’s no one else in the pool area right now, but you can’t lock the door from the inside. 

“C’mere,” Joel growls, pulling you close by your waist with one hand and grabbing the back of your neck with the other. “You gonna be a good girl and take what I give you, hm?” He raises an eyebrow at you, the dark glint in his eyes making your whole body tingle. His face is so close to yours that you can feel his hot breath and smell the intoxicating mix of sweat and aftershave. You want him so bad it hurts. 

“Yes, sir,” you coo, your pulse quickening rapidly. Joel lets go of your waist and grabs your chin instead. “Look at me, baby.” You lock eyes with him and swallow. “You get off on being a pathetic little slut in public, don’t you,” he smirks at you. You nod and can’t hide the grin spreading across your face. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, pulling you close for a passionate kiss. His plush lips find yours, pressing against you gently but commandingly, making you moan into his mouth. His skilled tongue circles yours as he tangles one hand in your hair and runs the other down your back slowly. He squeezes your ass and then slides his hand further down, feeling the damp spot between your legs, massaging you softly through your pants. His hard cock is rubbing against your thigh and you want nothing more than to feel him deep inside you, filling you up over and over again until you can’t think straight anymore.   

“Fuck, Joel,” you breathe against his lips, “I want you so bad.” He grabs your ass cheeks with both of his big hands and pulls you up his thigh. “I got you, darlin’. Gonna fuck you so good you’ll be begging me to stop.” You press your thighs together and whimper at the thought. Joel nuzzles his nose against the delicate skin of your jaw and hums, “Yeah, I know that’s what you need.” He starts trailing soft kisses down your neck from behind your ear all the way down to your clavicle while you tangle your hands in his curls and moan softly into his ear. 

“Tell you what, baby. If you make it into the pool naked before me, I’ll let you come tonight,” he smiles mischievously against your hot skin. You stare at him like a deer in headlights for a split second before determination sets in and you rip your shirt and sports bra off.

Joel starts fumbling with his shirt as well when he realizes you’re taking this seriously, but you’re already shucking off your shoes and pulling down your pants along with your panties before he can even get to his shoes. You run towards the pool and clumsily jump on one leg at a time while taking your socks off without stopping.

Joel just laughs to himself and stares at you in awe, your beauty taking him by surprise every single time. You lift your hands above your head and jump into the wonderfully cold water head first. It feels incredible.

You come up again and put your arms on the edge of the pool, Joel’s naked toes appearing right in front of your face. He looks down at you and laughs, “Remind me to never underestimate your desperation for my cock again, baby. Alright?” And with that he jumps into the water. 

You both swim a few laps, trying different styles, making a race out of it until Joel catches you by your ankle and pulls you back into his broad chest, his arms wrapping around your naked torso from behind. “Can’t stand that I’m winning, old man?” you chuckle breathlessly, your chest heaving from the exertion. “You’re such a brat,” Joel growls, moving one hand to cup the soft flesh of your left breast, kneading it roughly and rolling your pebbled nipple until you cry out in pain, while the other hand finds its way down your belly.

“You love it,” you pant, turning your head to look at him. He immediately removes the hand that was almost touching you where you need it the most and puts it around your neck, squeezing hard. “You’re really pushing your luck tonight, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his face so close that his lips brush yours, “let’s go in the whirlpool.”

Joel gets in first, closing his eyes, spreading out his arms and groaning at the feeling of the jets massaging his back and legs. You smile at the sight. You know he has a stressful job and isn’t the type to allow himself much downtime, so it warms your heart to see him be able to relax when he’s with you. He’s beautiful. “You just gonna stare at me or come in,” his voice yanks you from your thoughts. “C’mere and sit on my lap, pretty girl.” 

He immediately wraps his arms around you once you’re straddling him, tracing your back with his palms. His cock is already hardening again and you can’t help yourself but start rocking back and forth on it.

“Mmm, what a needy little thing you are,” Joel coos, “can’t wait for me to fuck you, huh?” You nod and whimper at the delicious feeling of your swollen clit finally getting the stimulation it has been aching for. “Shame you had to be a brat today and behave like a bitch in heat in front of everyone,” he grips the back of your neck with his hand, sending shivers down your spine.

“You wanna get off so bad, you do it. But I’m not gonna help you,” he searches your eyes intently, “got it?” He raises his eyebrows and you nod slowly. “Good. Now be a good girl and make yourself come on my cock.” 

You start rolling your hips, your slick folds sliding over Joel’s length continuously. “Fuck me, you feel so good, baby,” he moans, arms crossed behind his head. You keep grinding and tilt your pelvis so you’re stimulating your clit with every movement you make.

You’ve not fucked anyone since Joel a week ago and it’s been too hot in your apartment for you to get in the mood and masturbate, so you’re understandably desperate for release. It’s so close you can taste it, but still too far away. You dig your fingers into Joel’s shoulders as your movements get more erratic, the tension in your lower belly close to snapping.  

“That’s it, baby,” Joel pants, “keep going.” He keeps his eyes trained on your face and puts his hands on your waist. For a second you hope he might help guide you and start thrusting his hips, maybe even fuck you, but you know better. He loves it too much when you’re desperate.

You’re so close to coming, but just can’t seem to get there completely, no matter how hard or fast you rub yourself on his cock. You whine in frustration, hot tears starting to well in your eyes. 

“Look at me, baby,” Joel purrs, “you wanna say something?” You shake your head, trying to avert your gaze and blink away your tears. Joel grips your chin and forces you to look at him. “It’s okay, you can tell me,” he coos sweetly, the smirk on his face telling you that he’s mocking you.

“It hurts, Joel,” you whimper, tears rolling down your cheeks now. He cups your face and wipes them away with his thumbs. “Well, princess, it wouldn’t have to if you didn’t behave like a little whore. You think I should reward that behavior, hm?” 

Your pussy’s on fire and you’d say anything at this point if it meant you could come. “I’m so sorry, sir. Please help me, I’ll do anything, please, please, just help me,” you whine pathetically. “Aww, you poor thing,” Joel teases, “no fight left in ya, huh?” You shake your head and fall into him, burying your face into his neck, putting your arms around him. “Please, Joel,” you sob, “I need you.” 

He wraps his arms around you and strokes your hair. “You’re a good girl for asking so nicely. Wasn’t that hard now, was it?” You look into his eyes and shake your head no. “Good girls get rewarded, you know that.”

He nudges your nose with his and presses his soft lips on yours, kissing you urgently, nibbling and biting until he can’t take it anymore himself. “Sit on my cock, baby,” he pants, holding his shaft up with his hand. You position yourself right above his tip and sink down on him slowly. You almost come instantly, the way he’s stretching you open the perfect combination of painful and pleasurable. 

“Fuuuck, that’s it, baby. Take what you need from me,” Joel encourages you, gripping your hips and guiding you up and down on his thick cock. You can’t hold back your moans anymore, bouncing on him frantically, throwing your head back and flexing the muscles in your abdomen.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m so close,” you whine, starting to feel dizzy from the overwhelming mix of sensations. “Look at me when you come on my cock, baby,” Joel commands. You open your eyes, brow furrowed, mouth slightly opened, and look into his big dark eyes. “Just let go, baby,” he pants, “you’re doing so good for me.” 

Your skin is burning and your heart is racing when the tension inside you finally snaps and you come with a strangled moan. You convulse in ecstasy, your walls spasming and contracting around Joel, sending him over the edge himself. “F-fuck!” he groans, holding you down and thrusting up a few times, emptying himself inside you.

You collapse into him, as the aftershocks of your orgasm run through your body. “C’mere, darlin’. I got you,” Joel mumbles into your ear breathlessly, holding you tight and stroking your hair gently. 

The sudden rush of dopamine and oxytocin flooding your brain is forcing tears down your cheeks. You’re so exhausted that you can’t stop yourself from crying and sobbing into the crook of Joel’s neck. “Shhh, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m here,” he reassures you calmly, drawing soothing circles on your back.

Your body’s still trembling and the tears won’t stop. “I know, baby, I know. I’m here, just breathe.” He kisses the top of your head and murmurs into your hair how proud he is of you and how good you’ve been.

After a few minutes of silence, you’ve calmed down enough to open your eyes and lift your head again. “There’s my pretty girl,” Joel cups your face and smiles at you softly. “Let’s go take a shower, hm?”

---

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened,” you murmur while Joel’s gently rubbing soap into your skin. “No need to apologize, darlin’. Crying after the incredible orgasm I gave you seems pretty natural to me,” he smirks and you giggle.

“I never want you to hide your feelings from me. Just want you to be yourself around me, always,” he looks at you earnestly. You nod and smile at him before rinsing off the shampoo in your hair. You both towel off, gather your clothes and go to the respective locker rooms to change. 

Joel waits for you outside the gym’s front door, enjoying the cool night air. You try to sneak by the front desk, fearing that the receptionist might have put two and two together or even heard you, but of course she sees you. “Have a great night,” she winks at you and gives you a big smile. 

“I can never come here again, I hope you’re happy,” you sigh and Joel chuckles. “Not my fault, baby, remember? I was just doing my workout when you came and decided to put your pussy on display.” You slap his arm and laugh.

“Well, have a good-” “Let me drive you home, darlin’,” Joel interrupts you, taking your hand in his. You shake your head. “I live like ten feet away from here, you don’t have to drive me.” “I know I don’t. I want to. No buts, c'mon.”

Despite your reassurance that you’re fine and that he doesn’t need to bring you upstairs, Joel’s currently in your apartment, fixing you a glass of water and an Advil. You should know better by now than to expect anything less from him - he’s a gentleman through and through.

“Let’s get you to bed, darlin’,” he leads you into your bedroom, helping you out of your clothes and into a new shirt and pair of shorts. “Thanks, Joel. It was really nice seeing you tonight,” you murmur, your eyes getting heavy as soon as your head hits your soft pillow. “You too, sweetheart.”

You think you feel him put a soft kiss on your lips and murmur something when you drift off to sleep. You're probably just dreaming already.

If only you knew how much you mean to me.

Something’s off when you wake up in the morning. You rub your eyes, stretch, look around your room and can’t figure out what it is. Only when you step into your living room, it hits you. Your AC is working. You smile to yourself and look for your phone. 

You: Thank you, mr. contractor

Joel: Anything for you, babe

—--

part 1 || part 3 || series masterlist

[igotanidea]

Walk down memory lane : AK!Jason Todd x fem!reader

Warnings: mention of self harm and suicidal thoughts.

You can find other AK!stories on point 4 here: Jason Todd masterlist

***

She was just so tired.

Tired of fighting, of keeping up that fucking hope, of carrying the excessive weight on her shoulders.

She just couldn’t anymore .

Maybe it was time to finally accept that Jason didn’t care about her. That he would never care again. Not in the same way he used to before all this shit hit them. Before Joker, Harley, Arkham…

But she still needed, wanted, craved his love.

But how long can a girl be strong and live in a delusion?

And for the first time in a year she started crying.

What Harley could not achieve, happened because of a boy. No amount of torture and mind games and tricks she was subject to in Arkham, not once broke her. But the indifference and cold treatment from her former boyfriend, the one who she still loved got her on her knees, sobbing and shaking on the bed in her little, cold Asylum cell.

He was right. She was completely alone, no one was coming to help her, safe her from that void that finally found a way straight to her heart. Nothing more than a playtoy, unlovable, weak, pathetic, developing a heavy case of Stockholm syndrome.

Poor girl hugged herself in a foul attempt to calm down, but it was for nothing. Tears were falling freely down her cheeks, turning her into a puddle of emotions she couldn’t hold back. It was like the old wound and the feeling of being used opened and uncovered all the layers she cut off before.

Some people call it trauma, but she couldn’t care less about the terminology.

Maybe it would be better to just end her own life right now just so she wouldn’t have to suffer through another day of such lousy existence. It was Arkham, she was pretty sure she would find something to help her execute her plan.

On shaking legs she stood up from the bed, moving towards the bathroom. The mirror that Jason broke violently after their last encounter was still not fixed and the sharp pieces of glass poked on every side.

Perfect.

Gathering all the strength she had left, she reached towards the splinter and pointed it towards her wrist, assessing the “best” place to cut……

***

She woke up feeling sore and in tremendous amount of pain like never before. Both of her wrists were patched up with the clean bandages and she wasn’t even in her own sweatbox. Honestly, she couldn’t for the love of God recognise the place where she was, until the familiar, slightly muffled voice threw her off her confused state and brought back to reality.

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?!” Jason hissed with unconcealed anger and she shivered. “WHAT WERE YOU TRYING TO DO!?” in a blink of an eye he was right next to her, grabbing her chin and forcing her eyes up.  

She was just completely silent, the tight grip of his fingers on her puffy, hurting cheeks causing a few more tears to flow down her eyes.

“I’m sorry…..” she whispered, slightly panicking. He was never supposed to find her, let alone to save her. And why did he? Was it only because he needed her for release in the future? “I’m sorry…..” her whole body shook violently.

“Y/N…….” her name in his mouth sounded almost sweet and the touch got far more gentle, sudden change in behaviour making her freeze. What was going on?

“I……” her mouth fell agape and it was impossible to say a word.

“Did you forget what I told you last time? You’re mine. You can’t just go and decide to hurt yourself this way. I cannot allow it.”

“Why?” she sobbed “it’s not like you care. I am just a reminder of the past, of all those lies you were fed by Batman and your family. Of someone you once were and could never be again.”

“Stop it!”

“Please, please, just let me go. Just let me finish it, please.�� Her desperation and panic attack coming out in waves in the form of the aggressive tugging on the dressing, trying to reopen the stitched wounds and cuts. “I’ll do it myself. You won’t even have to lift a finger.”

“Stop it!’

“You can even watch it, I know you’ll enjoy the show. You wanted a show, didn’t you?”

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE STOP IT!” finally he managed to get a hold of her hands, pinning them down to her sides, precluding her from moving, even though she still struggled against his hold.  “Is that what you think of me? That I will enjoy that?”  she nodded shakily “fuck!”

“I’m sorry…..” she whimpered again. She was still here and he was now mad which could only equal to another punishment. And this time it was not going to be intimate. He could really hurt her at any time.

“Baby…..” he whispered, almost without thinking, closing his eyes “princess.”

“Wha….. what did you say?” her eyes grew wide. Did he really use those words or was it just an imagination?

Jason was completely inside his head now, memories flooding his brain like a fucking Niagara. He remembered the past. The moment, when while still being Robin, someone came after her, attacking her and almost eliminating her from the equation. He recalled the hours spend in the medical bay, watching her pale face and the heart rate monitor, praying to whatever entity was up there to bring her back to him. All those little heart attacks caused each time she took a sharp exhale. Falling asleep next to her bed, holding and caressing her cold hand, whispering pleas and promises to keep her safe in the future if she just woke up. Brushing up on how he felt when she finally opened her e/c eyes, looking at him with so much love and concern, asking if he was all right.

He remembered how she cared about him…..  And how he cared about her.

“Ja…. Jace?” she swallowed the lump in her throat, taking the risk to use his nickname, ready for another anger fit, but instead she met his honest gaze, so different from the one she was used to in his Arkham Knight version.

“Don’t ever do this again.” He gasped, brushing her cheek, putting a strand of hair behind her ear “you hear me?  Ever.”

“Jason?” he bottom lip trembled because of that sudden display of emotion from his part.

“Ever.” He emphasised.  “I don’t want to see you in pain.”

“Ok……”

“Anyone who hurt you deserve a punishment and that applies to you hurting yourself. Is that clear?”

“Anyone, but you?” she blurt without thinking and immediately covered her mouth in fear of the words that came out her mouth.

Jason tensed a bit, his muscles flexing but he didn’t move.

“Get some rest. Need you recovered soon. Big plans for you.” He just said and with one final look into her eyes left the room, leaving her completely speechless.

…..

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price visits Sweatbox in Soho and sees a Ghost.

(cw: oral sex, rimming, anal sex, gay sauna etiquette, sweaty gay men, repressed/closeted Price, bottom Ghost)

Price shut the locker with a relieved sigh and jumbled the numbers of the lock. He hadn't been to the Sweatbox in years but after that last spate of missions he was in desperate need of release. It had hit him at roughly 2100 that evening, a deep, keen ache in his gut and an itch beneath his skin.

He had shoved his feet into his boots and his desires had carried him to Soho. The bars were overflowing, the music loud and thumping. He paused outside the Duke of Wellington and hesitated in the doorway of the Admiral Duncan long enough to be jostled by two drunk boys stumbling into the night, but neither of the bars offered what he was immediately after. He would have to go through the song of dance of social interaction; buy drinks, dance, flirt. Price just didn't have it in him. Not anymore.

So he had trudged on; right down Wardour Street, his hands deep in his pockets; left down Great Marlborough Street, thinking perhaps if he could walk it off or thrash it out in the gym, then the ache would go away. It had been the emergence of a thickly muscled cub from Ramillies Street that had twigged the memory.

A sauna in Ramilies House and it was open twenty-four hours, seven days a week. It was tucked away behind Oxford Street, and he remembered that, in his youth, he had been excited by the idea of the average member of the public browsing the rails and shelves while thickly muscled men fucked each other raw barely two hundred yards away.

But now, he just needed to feel.

Price left the locker room and headed into the maze. It connected a number of saunas and it was in one of these that Price found his first liaison; a slim blond with a bright smile and a pretty little cock that fit perfectly in Price's mouth. Not quite enough, there was something missing, and Price nudged him away when a hand reached to squeeze his prick through his towel.

For half an hour Price sat in the heat and the steam, watching others arrive, connect, fuck and depart.

Connect.

That's what was missing. He wasn't looking for some whirlwind romance in a bloody sauna, but Price had always needed some form of deeper connection and understanding in sex. His first love had been a fellow rookie at the Royal Military Academy; it had been hot, heavy and swift, the connection built around raw desperation, exhaustion and a dogged will to succeed.

It had petered out the moment Price had graduated, the youngest officer to ever do so, and then been badged by the SAS. Since then, Price had tried to stick with like-minded men, men that understood him and the life. It was a fine line. A dangerous line. Especially before 2000 when being outed would have cost him a dishonourable discharge. Even now, the scars of those years, of Section 28, they stopped him from ever taking that step out of the shadows...

Fuck.

Price rubbed his hands over his face and left the sauna, resolving to grab a beer and then pick up the first pretty face who showed interest. He had a few hours to scratch this itch and make himself presentable for an online meeting. Better get to it.

The cafe was quiet; it was Sunday evening and most of the fun had happened the night before. There were only a scattered few men lounging on the sofas, chatting idly between bouts of touching and kissing, while porn played on the expensive-looking flat screens around the edge of the room. It was as Price marked the bar that he identified a sight that rooted his feet to the floor.

A broad, muscular back, an arm covered in skulls and miscellaneous battlefield imagery that was as familiar to him as the sight of his own damn beard in the mirror, and a balaclava'd head with a bit of fuzzy blonde showing at the scruff of the neck.

Price pressed his fingers into his eyes, pinched his nose, and then looked back to check Ghost wasn't a figment of dehydration or heatstroke from the bloody sauna. He wasn't. There he sat, calmly drinking a beer and watching a vintage porno on a nearby screen. His muscles were larger than even Ghost's standards, pumped from time in the gym, no doubt, and Price's prick gave an unhelpful twitch beneath his towel. At least some things remained constant.

There were two choices: Price could turn and walk away, which given the fragility of their situation here would have been the wiser option, or he could listen to the jittery excitement in the pit of his stomach and follow it to the bar.

His official report would have you believe Bravo Six to be truly peerless in issues of leadership, tracking and unconventional warfare, and then, in the small print, it would acknowledge his more than occasional frustration with rules and procedures. Tonight, he decided the small print would be well justified.

He slid into the bar stool at Ghost's side and folded his arms. There was a stillness to Ghost's posture now, replacing the relaxed fluidity of before. Price knew Ghost was regarding him, but in what way he couldn't be sure. Ghost, apparently reaching a conclusion, lifted his beer from the bar for another sip and Price watched his mouth more intently than he ever had before; lips gnarled by a deep, broad scar that bisected into a second on his jaw and neck.

"Sir," Ghost acknowledged, not taking his eyes off the television screen.

Heat balled in Price's belly. "Drop the 'sir', Lieuten--Simon. It means something else here."

"I'm aware."

Price nearly choked on his own spit. To cover the cough, he gestured at the semi-naked waiter and ordered himself a fifth of whiskey, and tightened his hand around it to keep it occupied.

"How long have you--?"

"Three hours."

Price squinted, and then realised Ghost was talking about his session in the sauna. "No, you muppet, how long have you been--?"

Even after all these years, sitting in a fucking sauna, Price couldn't say it.

Ghost had no such hang up. "Gay? Since I figured out what my dick was for." Notably, Ghost didn't return the question, which suggested he either wasn't entirely interested in the answer or felt like Price had overstepped.

Price stared at the whiskey in his hand, intimately aware of how hard he was getting under his towel, because his mind--so very fucking creative in the field--was now speed running all the ways he wanted to have Ghost, indulging in all those times he had pushed the fantasies down because leching after your straight junior officers was a one way ticket to personal hell. He wasn't entirely sure whether fucking your gay junior officer was any less self destructive.

"I've got a proposal," Ghost said, pushing his now empty bottle away. "I'm down to fuck, got one of the private cabins. It stays in here. Never leaves. We both get what we want."

There were so many layers to what Ghost was offering that it took Price a moment to parse them. The offer was clear as day, and Price knew he could trust Ghost's discretion; no one could keep a secret quite like Lieutenant Simon Riley. It was the, 'we both get what we want' part that left Price reeling.

Ghost reached over Price's lap and squeezed the length of his cock through his towel. Etiquette was clear in the saunas and Ghost's proposition couldn't have been more so. "First door on the right. Don't leave me waiting, sir."

Ghost slid from his stool, the towel sitting perfectly on the round curves of his arse, and disappeared into the maze. Price stared at the tumbler of whiskey in his hand and tried to reason himself out of making this mistake. It was no good; he was thinking with a different head that was desperate to feel Ghost's hand on it again.

Price knocked back his drink in two wincing gulps and grabbed a condom from the bowl on the bar. The maze was as calm as the cafe, but Price didn't pause to take in the ambience. If Ghost was following usual etiquette, his door would be open and there was a possibility that someone else would accept the invitation and Ghost would take the offer.

The door was indeed open, but the room was quiet but for the muffled sound of music. The sight that greeted Price as he stepped inside was something straight out of his wet dreams.

Ghost waited on his front, propped up on his elbows with his legs spread. The towel was gone and Price could see the elastic of a jock strap framing the two perfect curves of his arse. Between those thick thighs, Price could see the full swell of Ghost's sac, straining at soft cotton. Price knew Ghost was a work of art; he had admired his powerful body for years, watching it work in the gym and the field, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Ghost like this. Spread and compliant, his body begging in the way he tilted his hips to expose his hole, muscular back shifting subtly.

"Like what you see, sir?" asked that low growl, and Price swallowed hard.

"Always have, Simon." The setting felt too intimate for call signs and honorifics. Price closed the door, declining any interruptions from others, and left his towel by it. The confession had just slipped out, but how could he not confess? He was about to worship at a truly special altar.

Ghost watched Price as far as he could without twisting, those long lashes low, until Price knelt on the foot of the bed. He was so hard, so fucking wet too, leaking like a virgin rookie panting in his bunk. Simon smelled of clean sweat from the gym and the shower he'd taken before, and Price crawled over his body to press his nose into those soft tufts of hair escaping the bottom of Ghost's mask; the line where Simon started.

His cock settled into the cleft of Simon's arse, and he didn't miss the way Simon spread his legs a little further and rocked up into the pressure of it. Fuck. Simon wanted it, wanted his hole filled, and it was Price's prick he was demanding.

Price left the condom on the bed as he worked his way down Simon's back, nipping, licking and kissing every peak and valley in its muscular topography. He was rewarded with a soft, panted groan when he reached the swell of Simon's arse and ended his journey with a gentle nip. "Spread 'em," Price demanded, finding his voice behind the knot in his throat.

Simon did so obediently, shifting to press the inside of his knees into the mattress, his body arching deliciously in a single, athletic curve that defied any doubt that a man of his size could be flexible. Price ran his nose over the soft skin, kissing a patch of freckles, before he pressed his thumbs into each cheek and spread Simon open. The first lap of his tongue made Simon choke on a gasp, and Price savoured that small victory; he was taking some control back.

Simon had been so calm at the bar, so completely unbothered, and Price had choked and stumbled like a boy. Now, with his tongue laving broad circles around Simon's rim, he knew he had gained ground back. Tactical warfare. The bristles of his moustache must have felt good, because Simon pushed back a little, betraying a budding neediness.

Price licked deeper, curling and writhing his tongue until Simon's pants were ragged, his hips bucking and jittering in an effort to stay still. Price took his time teasing Simon open, savouring each new twitch and noise he coaxed from the formidable body beneath him. When Price pushed his tongue deep, Simon finally relented. "Sir, John... Please."

That single word straining out in Simon's low, gravelly timber made Price's dick throb and he knew he'd done teasing. He lifted back to his knees and snatched the condom up just as Simon reached for a small tube of poppers tucked beneath the pillow. "I'll be gentle, Simon," Price said, tossing the foil aside as he wrapped up.

"No," Simon replied. "I want it hard, deep. Proper." Simon chucked a bottle of lube down the bed.

"Oh, fuck," Price breathed, gnawing on his lower lip. It took all his willpower to keep his hands steady as he poured some slick over his cock, and then warmed some on his fingers to tease around Simon's hole. He let Simon take a few breaths of his aid, watched those impressive muscles bunch and relax, before he slipped a finger in to the last knuckle. Simon's body opened so easily, almost sucked him in, and Price groaned low in his chest. "Fuckin' hell, Simon. You're made for this."

Simon grunted, rolling his hips back, his forehead dropping, and Price drew back to replace his hand with the tip of his prick. He was enjoying Simon's neediness, the way his skin shivered and his body opened itself so desperately, so he took his time thrusting in. With small, slow movements, Price enjoyed each successive inch he worked into slick, welcoming heat. He let the flare of his crown pop and catch on Simon's rim, enjoying the way Simon's body spread open around it.

It was better than he'd ever imagined, watching the sweat bead on Simon's back, feeling his body clench, listening to pants become low, tight moans of pleasure as Price finally worked in to the hilt.

"Ung, fuck," Simon huffed, fists clenching as he took another breath of relaxant. Price felt a swell of smug pride at the idea he was bigger than Simon's average and remembered what he'd been asked for. Hard, deep. Price slipped his hands beneath Simon's thighs to tilt his hips a little more, and set about finding a rhythm that would make Simon lose whatever self control he had left.

Price let his head fall back as he fucked into Simon with deep, hard thrusts. He found the right angle quickly enough, shifting a hand to press a palm to the small of Simon's back to keep him angled just right, and it was then that Simon found his voice. Each deep pound pushed a whimper or cuss from him, his head low between his shoulders as he clenched with each wet slap of Price's hips. Price found himself remembering those glorious tits of Simon's, always disguised by his tactical vest in the field, but perfectly framed in cotton during mess and down time.

Price drew out and hooked Simon's hip, flipping him onto his back. He didn't leave Simon empty for long, gathering muscular legs to his shoulders as he notched his prick against Simon's loose, greedy hole. Simon left one hand above his head, and circled his prick with the other, stripping it fast and hard with the same pace as Price's hips. Price spread his knees for purchase, chasing the building heat in his gut, coiling at the base of his spine, as he watched Simon's broad chest bounce, nipples pebbled, begging to sucked. "Fuck, Simon. Never thought I'd enjoy... your hole as much as this."

Simon didn't reply. He was too lost in the glorious burn of being fucked well. As he chased his peak, Price could hear him growl "yeah, yeah" under his breath, his free hand knotting in the sheets until his impressive cock finished in a hot load over his fist. His entire body tightened up, and Price fucked him through it, those pants turning into choked moans. Watching Simon unravel was enough for Price to find the edge, and he chased it to his own end, finishing deep in Simon and wishing the condom wasn't there. What he'd give to watch his claim leak out of Simon in the aftermath.

Price fell forward onto an elbow, his heart hammering in his chest. He had enough sense about him to draw out his softening cock, but not enough to prepare himself for the ragged lips that sealed over his and the eager tongue that swept into his mouth. Simon kissed like he fought; fierce, ruthless, single-minded, and Price moaned into it, before rolling off onto his back.

A few minutes of breathless silence passed, and then Simon grunted. "Only one?"

Price huffed an incredulous laugh. "Shit, Simon, let a man regroup."

Simon hummed and stretched with all the languid pleasure of a large cat sunning itself. "You've got a few more rounds in you yet, sir."

Turned out Price had quite a few more rounds in him. Half an hour later, Simon rode him, his head thrown back as powerful thighs fucked him down onto Price's prick, his hands behind his neck as Price squeezed his chest and teased his cock. Price took him again in one of the saunas, their skin slick with sweat, sensitive with heat. Price licked the drips from Simon's spine, grinding deep, barely withdrawing as Simon gripped the bench; Price made Simon shout his name that time. In between, Price gave Simon a massage and played with his hole, his balls, murmuring admiration and praise for the godly physique beneath his hands. They finished in the jacuzzi, Simon's mouth working down Price's cock as Price fingered him in slow, lazy thrusts.

They left the bathhouse in the early hours of the morning, and Price had begun the process of filing the whole experience into 'once in a lifetime' when Simon paused at the cusp of Oxford Street and glanced over his shoulder. "I'll be back next week." He pulled his mask down over his chin and disappeared into the pale early morning.

Price was already rearranging his plans for next Sunday.

[wilysigma]

SWEATBOX