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Another soft groan fell from Fin’s lips as he fisted his cock; His teeth grazed the full flesh of his bottom lip in an attempt to clear out his clouded mind and better focus on the mental image of his partner, which he’d been trying to conjure up.
Exhaling shakily, Fin pictured John sinking to his knees for him, those big brown eyes of his looking up expectantly.
A shudder ran through him as he envisioned the other detective nuzzling his face against his bulge. Mouthing at his hardening length before sticking out his tongue and running it over his still clothed crotch. The movements of his wrist became more frantic as he imagined John finally pulling away from him, just enough to drag down his fly and free him from the maddeningly tight confines of his clothes.
“Fuck,” he hissed out through gritted teeth, as his imagination ran wild with images of John eagerly lapping up at his weeping cock-head before taking him into his mouth, and taking him deep. Gagging slightly around his girth. Swallowing around him. Burying his nose into the curls of his pubes as the sweetest of expressions formed on his face, his eyes feverish with lust and teary.
Throwing his head back against the pillows, Fin felt his orgasm building up, warmth spreading in his belly, and then lower through his pelvis and to his sack, an unmistakable sign of its fast approaching.
Whining softly he imagined running his fingers through John’s hair, wondered how soft they’d feel underneath his touch, how he could take his sweet time petting and caressing before grabbing a fistful of them; Use them as leverage to fuck his partner’s mouth good and hard or to pull John off of himself and get a good look at his fucked out face. His imagination latched onto the latter, and he soon found himself envisioning John a panting mess, with lips shiny from spit and pre-come, looking positively puffy, red and kissable. Those lips parted to whisper out his name in a hoarse voice, one single word used both as a plea and a question, being all Fin needed to come all over his hand, his frantic movements gradually slowing down, faltering and then stopping altogether.
Staying still and with his eyes closed, his breathing came out in ragged pants that seemed to take forever to subside. His heart, hammering against his rib cage all the while, his head still clouded by his fantasies.
Letting go of himself at last, Fin, slowly sat up, getting hit by that post-nut clarity rush that made him grimace at his actions, made him feel more than a little guilty as he reached out for his nightstand and pulled out a couple Kleenexes from their dispenser, using them to clean his right hand first and crotch second, silently mulling over how sleazy he was for getting off to these wild day-dreams regarding Munch of all people. How rash he was for indulging in them, so regularly too, when he knew that they could never come true, not to mention the disaster that would unfold if they ever got out of the confines of his bedroom, as unlikely as that was.
Balling up the soiled tissues, he pulled back up his pajama bottoms before slowly getting out of bed and heading for the adjacent bathroom.
Fin flicked the lights on and went about washing his hands, halfheartedly vowing to himself that he wouldn’t indulge in these types of fantasies any longer. He shook off the excess water from his hands, gave his reflection in the mirror a weary look, knowing deep down he’d slip again, sooner or later, he would, like he always did.