08-20-2013, 11:07 AM
'Resist the urge to grab for it, but do not hold back.'
Okay. What?
A frustrated groan rumbled from the back of Jaxen's throat as he resisted the urge to point out the contradiction to Tony's instruction. How the hell does someone grasp something firmly without snatching at it? Again, Jaxen resisted the urge to break the view of the inside of his eyelids just to fix Tony with an eyeroll. Did anyone else think he was a puny pre-pubescent toke getting jackoff instructions? Strong, steady and firm? Suppose Tony's voyeuristic talk through lent some explanation as to why Mickey V stuck around so long, because it wasn't for the cuisine.
Seriously. First thing after skipping this shithole, Jaxen was banging someone in the bathroom somewhere. Probably going to be a fatty. He didn't feel like committing the time necessary to score a hot chick. A guy's gotta keep the bar low when in a time crunch. And the chubbies were usually more into the fun stuff.
This line of thought was not helping his concentration. Okay. Focus.
A dark room. A single red dot on the wall. Jaxen steered every ounce of his brain toward it and approached with a steady pace. The dot itself was fixed at eye level, but the wall itself tried to retreat like some funhouse of mirrors warping his universe.
His expression deepened unknowingly, brows drawn low in determination. With every step forward, the anger and frustration, even his forsaken hunger were left behind. A light, Tony called it. A burning light.
When his face was inches from the wall, the red dot suddenly swelled though Jaxen did nothing to summon it so. It had jumped out, lept unbidden and Jaxen gasped. Within, everything was fuming and scorched. Having fallen into some pissy volcano ready to blow.
He grit his teeth. Unconsciously, both fists curled up in determination, trim nails dug deep into his palms. He felt like screaming and crying and laughing all at the same time. The greatest drug he'd ever known coursed his blood. Through the force of it, every vein in his arms surfaced to a spidery web of tense muscle. It was a fight. One of will and domination. So far, he was winning, but barely so.
Okay. What?
A frustrated groan rumbled from the back of Jaxen's throat as he resisted the urge to point out the contradiction to Tony's instruction. How the hell does someone grasp something firmly without snatching at it? Again, Jaxen resisted the urge to break the view of the inside of his eyelids just to fix Tony with an eyeroll. Did anyone else think he was a puny pre-pubescent toke getting jackoff instructions? Strong, steady and firm? Suppose Tony's voyeuristic talk through lent some explanation as to why Mickey V stuck around so long, because it wasn't for the cuisine.
Seriously. First thing after skipping this shithole, Jaxen was banging someone in the bathroom somewhere. Probably going to be a fatty. He didn't feel like committing the time necessary to score a hot chick. A guy's gotta keep the bar low when in a time crunch. And the chubbies were usually more into the fun stuff.
This line of thought was not helping his concentration. Okay. Focus.
A dark room. A single red dot on the wall. Jaxen steered every ounce of his brain toward it and approached with a steady pace. The dot itself was fixed at eye level, but the wall itself tried to retreat like some funhouse of mirrors warping his universe.
His expression deepened unknowingly, brows drawn low in determination. With every step forward, the anger and frustration, even his forsaken hunger were left behind. A light, Tony called it. A burning light.
When his face was inches from the wall, the red dot suddenly swelled though Jaxen did nothing to summon it so. It had jumped out, lept unbidden and Jaxen gasped. Within, everything was fuming and scorched. Having fallen into some pissy volcano ready to blow.
He grit his teeth. Unconsciously, both fists curled up in determination, trim nails dug deep into his palms. He felt like screaming and crying and laughing all at the same time. The greatest drug he'd ever known coursed his blood. Through the force of it, every vein in his arms surfaced to a spidery web of tense muscle. It was a fight. One of will and domination. So far, he was winning, but barely so.