Work Text:
You’re sprawled out across your bed, settled into the comfortable fabric of Betty - though the affectionate bed herself is nowhere to be found. Your clothes were shed before you settled down and rest in an unorganized pile in front of your bedside table. As for your own body, you’re utterly bare with every inch of your form on display. There’s no hiding, no pretense of modesty with legs sprawled open and the soft breeze of the AC blowing across your skin. The cool air leaves a clear trail of uneven goosebumps where it touches. After all, this is your own bedroom. Your sanctuary. You are alone here. Or rather, as alone as you can ever be.
But you know that’s a lie.
You pretend not to notice the rapt gaze on the other side of the vent, brown - or is it grey or perhaps purple? - eyes devouring the sight of you exposed so lewdly. You act oblivious, all soft and happy sighs as you shift and settle into the pillows. They’re stacked behind you to prop you up to a half-sit and you resemble some opulent royalty centuries ago. One might suspect you plan to take a nap, eyes fluttering shut as you let your head fall back against a pillow and pretend not to hear the quiet, echoing gasp from the grate across the room.
A shiver rolls through you as your mind races, though your body remains serene. Hector is watching and you know even with your eyes closed. The feeling of his intense gaze on your skin is just as physical as the air that brushes your exposed flesh; it’s his way of reaching, grabbing, stroking, groping without a single touch. He can’t help himself and you know it.
Of all the things you expected to find when you turned the Dateviators on your HVAC system, you never expected him. A sweet, devoted man, your first full conversation all mumbled declarations of adoration, of obsession and submission and service, driven by nothing more than a desire to give you pleasure above all else.
Perhaps that’s why you’re here now, letting him drink in the sight of you exposed. Then again, ‘letting him’ might not be the right words. That makes it seem like you’re giving him a gift and you’ve never thought of yourself as good looking enough to be a gift. Then again, he seems certain you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. Maybe it’s that you’re asking him to look at you, inviting him into the sight of you at your most vulnerable. Maybe it’s both - a fragile gift of handspun glass and you can feel the heat of the kiln building in your core.
You relax for a few minutes, taking in the quiet sounds and letting your mind wander. It’s no grand surprise to you when your hand begins to wander lower, but there’s no mistaking the muffled groan you hear when your fingers reach that most sensitive area. You wonder idly if he’s touching himself. Are his fingers wrapped around the length of his shaft, moving in jagged, furtive strokes as he watches you pleasure yourself? Or does he deny himself that, cock weeping untouched within the constraints of his clothes? Does he know that you know he’s watching? Or does he think he’s getting away with some unseen, lewd crime?
With that thought in mind, your own fingers move. You begin slowly, brushing against the sensitive skin before slowly increasing pressure. There’s no rush, no need to hurry to the end. You’re certain Hector’s attentions have no time limit; he will stay and watch you until the HVAC system itself rusts away into nothingness - he told you so himself. No, you have the time to take your time, all soft and sweet with the impression of innocence.
Not sexual innocence, of course, not with the lewd moans that slip from those lips. The innocence you claim is ignorance - pretending you’re only innocently pleasuring yourself, not putting on a show for the one that’s watching from the vents. It turns you on to know he’s there and wants you so badly, trapped behind those metal bars. He could leave the vents, you both know he could and you would think no lesser of him, but that would ruin the fun. After all, it is from silently watching that he fell in love with you in the first place and, while it may be more lust than love in this very moment, neither of you dislike the idea of continuing the habit.
As time moves on, slow and patient but increasingly needy, you pick up the pace. Your movements are faster now with more pressure as the heat that coils in your core increases. Wetness coats your fingers, slick with need at the thought of Hector’s gaze on you. The room is filled with the sounds you make: moans, gasps, groans and the uneven panting of your breath.
But you’re not alone.
It seems as you’ve been losing yourself in your own pleasure, Hector has been as well. Well, losing himself in your pleasure, specifically. You can hear him moan and the subtle way his breath catches in his throat when your hips stutter slightly and lift off the bed. He has to be masturbating now, practically whimpering with every stroke and it makes you shiver despite the heat that brushes across your skin. This show is all for him, but he’s all for you and never have you felt such obsession and need without a single touch of skin.
With a loud moan, you climax, body shuddering and arching up off the soft top of the blankets. Pleasure rolls through you in waves, fireworks behind your eyelids and you’re left gasping for breath when the sensation finally begins to recede enough that you can settle yourself back down on the bed. All that for the feeling of being watched, of being something beautiful for someone to please themselves to. It has your head spinning, but you’re not done yet.
No, you can still hear Hector’s needy, whimpering gasps from inside the vent. There’s a flash of disappointment and a moment of self doubt. Were you not enough? Was this not enough? The moment passes as a thought occurs: everything he does, he does for you. Perhaps he needs permission or approval to know that his pleasure brings you pleasure. It would certainly make sense based on his desperation to please you and you could never be so cruel as to deny him the knowledge of a job well done.
With a renewed sense of delight - and arousal - you let your eyes open just slightly, gaze firmly locked on your own hand. Still maintaining that air of innocence, you lift your fingers up to your lips. Slowly, intentionally, you slip them into your mouth, groaning at the taste of your own arousal. You take a few moments to drag it on, teasing and pushing him as far as you can before you open your eyes fully.
In a single moment, his gaze finally meets yours and he realizes what you’ve known all along. You knew he was watching. You knew he was touching himself over the sight of you. You wanted this moment of voyeurism - or perhaps exhibition?
The realization drives him over the edge and you hear him come undone with a desperate, almost pathetic moan of your name. His voice shudders and shatters with need and every breath comes in an uneven gasp. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard and your mind is racing with a million ideas on how you can make him sound like that over and over again.