Evanstan Oneshots

mollify the press

i wish i could write words that weren't porn. daddy kink, if that's not your thing i apologise. also parts of this just kinda stop abruptly and that's because i'm Not Good At This Yet.

the first time chris hears sebastian get off is fucking surreal. their bedrooms are right next door to each other, and sebastian must have left his window open, because from his own bed, chris can hear him shift and groan softly, the springs in the mattress grinding as he moves before he's all of the sudden moaning, gently and sweetly.

admittedly, chris would never have known if not for the soft, wet sounds that accompany sebastian's hums and gasps. he is extremely quiet, and the extra barriers would have easily muffled him, but evidently not with an open window.

several seconds later there's a pause, the springs uncoil loudly — or maybe that's just him? — as seb moves, and then breathes a long, shuddering gasp, murmuring something of a cuss to himself. chris wonders what the fuck got him to make such a pretty sound.

he's certain he should have closed his own window, or let seb know he was awake, but when he goes to click the glass pane shut he finds himself hesitating, fingertips hovering barely inches away from the clasp, because he really doesn't want to.

he wants to lay back and listen, and after a moment of guilty contemplation, his own morbid curiosity wins out and he does just that. he turns his face in the direction of
the window, eyes flicking over the cloudy night sky before they flutter closed, hands tucked behind his head as he focusses on the sounds. sebastian pants and then groans, still so soft, and the springs hiss their own approval, shifting as he does.

"mmm," sebastian hums, and then swears — pretty loudly. he seems to hold his breath as he pauses, listening for chris, probably, to make sure he isn't awake. it's the opportune time to interrupt, chris could easily put on a mock-sleepy voice and ask if everything was okay, he should, in fact, but doesn't.

sebastian exhales after a few more long seconds, sounding relieved. chris, when seb starts panting, tucks his lip into his mouth and bites down, because he's as aroused as he is guilty.

"please," seb gasps, to no one but himself, because chris literally saw him enter his room alone an hour ago.

and then "sir," — which has cris smothering a hand over his face, his dick twitching with interest. he isn't going to touch himself, even if sebastian wasn't his best fucking friend, because the window is open.

sebastian begins to sound a little more frenzied, and chris has to screw his eyes shut, murmuring something blasphemous just low enough to be a secret. he hears seb peak and then whimper through the fall, eventually tapering off into his usual, delicate pattern of breathing.

he waits until sebastian is up, listening for the quiet taps of his feet on the linoleum floor, and then the whisper-soft click as he opens his door before he  even thinks about opening his eyes. he doesn't stand until he hears the shower turn on from the other side of the apartment, and even then, it's only to pace the length of his room.

that's when the regret seeps in. chris groans out loud, as indelicate as he likes, because no ones going to hear him. he closes his window and scrubs his hands through his hair, guilty as hell now that the adrenaline has worn off. he doesn't know what to do.

the kitchen is silent when he steps into it, taking a bottle of water from the fridge. he leans back into the counter and crosses his ankles, elbows holding him up. it leaves his collarbones settled weirdly and so he shifts, leaning a little further. his shirt rides up with the motion, exposing the band of his briefs, which is of course the moment sebastian creeps past the kitchen.