Caleb Michaels (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greatamazingfeelingsboy) wrote2020-02-06 05:13 pm
greatamazingfeelingsboy) wrote2020-02-06 05:13 pm
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At first, he thinks it's an immediate neighbor. Caleb's laying in bed, feeling tense and warm, and someone nearby is getting aroused. He can feel it, hot honey in the low cradle of his hips, and he doesn't register whose it is right away. It feels good — better than his hand — and he could leave. He could get up, right now, and walk out of the building, go for a run in the cold night air, calm down. By the time he gets back, they'd be done, and he'd be able to go to sleep.
But he doesn't want to.
The hot honey is pooling, warm and amber and thick, and it feels good. He wants to feel this. Maybe he should feel a little guilty for wanting to enjoy someone else's sex life, but right at that moment, he doesn't. Right at that moment, he breathes out a heavy sigh, hand sliding down to cup himself. He's half-hard, and pushing up against his own palm is bringing him the rest of the way. He doesn't even need to touch himself, not really. He can feel the way the heat slides through him, into his muscles, teasing him.
He needs more.
Caleb rolls over, pressing his hips down against the mattress. He shudders as he ruts down against it, but something's still not right. He groans softly, then realizes: there's only one person. He's only feeling one person's arousal. But this is definitely more than jerking-off-arousal. It's bigger, fuller — it's caused by someone else.
So why can't he feel them?
He whimpers when a bolt shoots through him, pleasure tickling up his spine. There's a desperate want in the back of his throat, and for the briefest of seconds, he feels a flicker of uncertainty.
No, not uncertainty. Doubt. It's gray and soft and mutes the arousal for just a moment before it swells again, and Caleb's eyes flash open.
Fuck. Rosie. These are Rosie's feelings.
Caleb's dick doesn't care, but his face heats with embarrassed horror as he jerks against the bed. He needs to stop this. He needs to leave, he—
Why is he feeling her? She's four floors above him!
He groans, squeezing his eyes shut as Rosie feels incredible pleasure. It chases down his spine again, into his belly, his dick, making him clench. His hips are still circling against the bed like they can't stop, like they're on a motor all their own. Caleb whimpers into his pillow.
He doesn't jerk off. He clutches the pillow under his head with both hands and pants into it as he rides this out. That's what he's going to do. He'll ride this out, then clean up, then leave. He'll go... somewhere. He doesn't know.
Rosie's orgasm builds and Caleb cries out as it hits him like a train. He comes into his boxers and whimpers again through the aftershocks. His face is hot with a blush, and he can feel his own shame finally overpowering the languid afterglow beaming down on him like a heat lamp.
Caleb swallows and pushes himself off the bed. His legs feel like jelly, but he forces himself to hobble to the bathroom so he can clean up.
He yelps when a fresh wave of heat rushes into him, and his dick jumps.
"Fuck, seriously?" he gasps.
He shoves his boxers down, grabs a wash cloth, but when he brings it down to wash himself, he ends up fucking it, overwhelmed by her oversensitivity, her sharp need spilling heat through his torso. By the time he comes, he's on his knees, one arm braced against the edge of the sink, head resting on his forearm, body shaking. He groans weakly, trembling and breathing through it.
A minute passes. Two. Five, and everything is still. Rosie is feeling loose and relaxed and happy, and Caleb dares to move. He finishes cleaning up, changes into clean shorts, then pulls on jeans and a shirt. He's halfway to the door, coat on and phone in hand, when another wave hits him.
"Nononono," he breathes. He makes it to the door, then takes the stairs down to the lobby.
There. It's quiet. He's far enough away that Rosie's feelings are gone. The arousal that isn't his starts to fade, and his dick goes soft.
With a breath, Caleb sits heavily on the floor by the stairs. He swallows and checks the time. Midnight, or close enough. Fuck. He has no idea how long this is going to take.
But he's definitely going to tell Rosie no more sex on a school night.
But he doesn't want to.
The hot honey is pooling, warm and amber and thick, and it feels good. He wants to feel this. Maybe he should feel a little guilty for wanting to enjoy someone else's sex life, but right at that moment, he doesn't. Right at that moment, he breathes out a heavy sigh, hand sliding down to cup himself. He's half-hard, and pushing up against his own palm is bringing him the rest of the way. He doesn't even need to touch himself, not really. He can feel the way the heat slides through him, into his muscles, teasing him.
He needs more.
Caleb rolls over, pressing his hips down against the mattress. He shudders as he ruts down against it, but something's still not right. He groans softly, then realizes: there's only one person. He's only feeling one person's arousal. But this is definitely more than jerking-off-arousal. It's bigger, fuller — it's caused by someone else.
So why can't he feel them?
He whimpers when a bolt shoots through him, pleasure tickling up his spine. There's a desperate want in the back of his throat, and for the briefest of seconds, he feels a flicker of uncertainty.
No, not uncertainty. Doubt. It's gray and soft and mutes the arousal for just a moment before it swells again, and Caleb's eyes flash open.
Fuck. Rosie. These are Rosie's feelings.
Caleb's dick doesn't care, but his face heats with embarrassed horror as he jerks against the bed. He needs to stop this. He needs to leave, he—
Why is he feeling her? She's four floors above him!
He groans, squeezing his eyes shut as Rosie feels incredible pleasure. It chases down his spine again, into his belly, his dick, making him clench. His hips are still circling against the bed like they can't stop, like they're on a motor all their own. Caleb whimpers into his pillow.
He doesn't jerk off. He clutches the pillow under his head with both hands and pants into it as he rides this out. That's what he's going to do. He'll ride this out, then clean up, then leave. He'll go... somewhere. He doesn't know.
Rosie's orgasm builds and Caleb cries out as it hits him like a train. He comes into his boxers and whimpers again through the aftershocks. His face is hot with a blush, and he can feel his own shame finally overpowering the languid afterglow beaming down on him like a heat lamp.
Caleb swallows and pushes himself off the bed. His legs feel like jelly, but he forces himself to hobble to the bathroom so he can clean up.
He yelps when a fresh wave of heat rushes into him, and his dick jumps.
"Fuck, seriously?" he gasps.
He shoves his boxers down, grabs a wash cloth, but when he brings it down to wash himself, he ends up fucking it, overwhelmed by her oversensitivity, her sharp need spilling heat through his torso. By the time he comes, he's on his knees, one arm braced against the edge of the sink, head resting on his forearm, body shaking. He groans weakly, trembling and breathing through it.
A minute passes. Two. Five, and everything is still. Rosie is feeling loose and relaxed and happy, and Caleb dares to move. He finishes cleaning up, changes into clean shorts, then pulls on jeans and a shirt. He's halfway to the door, coat on and phone in hand, when another wave hits him.
"Nononono," he breathes. He makes it to the door, then takes the stairs down to the lobby.
There. It's quiet. He's far enough away that Rosie's feelings are gone. The arousal that isn't his starts to fade, and his dick goes soft.
With a breath, Caleb sits heavily on the floor by the stairs. He swallows and checks the time. Midnight, or close enough. Fuck. He has no idea how long this is going to take.
But he's definitely going to tell Rosie no more sex on a school night.