on camera. ♱ woosan

🔞 ( 𝟣𝟣. ) ── unmarked territory.

cw : smut , masturbation ♱

The countdown ticked. 3... 2... 1. And before San could even fully process it, the screen flashed to life. His pulse quickened, a tight knot forming in his stomach. It was an odd feeling—being on this side of the screen. He'd spent countless hours on the other end, watching others do what he was now about to attempt. Never did he think the tables would turn, but there he was, sitting comfortably in his chair, the soft hum of his computer fan in the background, preparing to expose himself to a handful of strangers.

"Should I start by saying hi?" San's voice broke the silence, amusement curling at the edges of his words. The mask concealed his smirk, but the teasing lilt in his chuckle gave him away. A strange mix of nerves and resolve settled in his chest, but he shoved it aside. There was no room for hesitation—he had a goal, and he intended to reach it.

"First stream here, so thanks for tuning in..." he said smoothly, his hand brushing against the soft fabric of his black tie, fingers brushing over the cool material. The knot felt snug around his neck, almost suffocating in its neatness. With a subtle motion, he tugged at it, loosening it just enough to feel the fabric shift.

Slowly, deliberately, he unwound it, letting the tie slip free from his collar. The fabric twisted in his hand, the slight friction sending a soft rasp against his skin as he wrapped it around his left fist, feeling the weight of it as it settled into his grip.

The first few comments began to trickle into the chat, their presence lighting up the screen like tiny fireflies in the dark. "That voice... I can't." "God, you're so hot." "Can you undo your shirt?" The messages varied—some were simple compliments, others brazen requests—but they all carried the same undertone of eager approval.

San's eyes flicked over them, scanning each line as his fingers instinctively brushed against the smooth buttons of his vest. The soft clink of the metal slipping through the buttonholes was almost rhythmic, grounding him in the moment. The chat wasn't moving nearly as fast as Kitty's did, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Every message felt deliberate, granting him a clearer sense of direction for how he might steer this stream.

"So needy already..." he said, his voice dropping into a low, teasing drawl, each word dripping with feigned exasperation. The faint smirk hidden beneath his mask tugged at his tone, and the sound carried easily through the new mic. His head tilted slightly to the right, as if studying the screen with amused disdain.

"I'll help you," he continued, his voice softening into something almost soothing. Then, just as quickly, the teasing edge returned. "But baby.... be patient."

The words hung in the air, curling into the stillness of the room, while his fingers lingered at the next button on his vest. The subtle motion of his hand—slow and taunting—matched the measured cadence of his voice.

With the vest now unbuttoned, San leaned forward with ease, slipping it off his broad shoulders and letting it fall out of frame. Beneath, only a crisp white button-up remained, perfectly fitted to accentuate the lines of his torso, paired with sleek black slacks that hugged his thighs like a second skin. His hands drifted downward, gliding over the smooth fabric stretched over his legs. A low, almost involuntary groan escaped his lips—quiet, but charged enough to leave a ripple of tension in the air.

His dick was already half-hard beneath his clothing, the buldge only becoming increasingly noticeable as time passed. San's right hand moved to palm atop it, breath hitching slightly as he settled. "Daddy's been pretty pent up." He started, hardening the pressure in his subtle strokes. The camera's angle was nearly perfect to catch the entire scene. "Be a doll and help me relax."