"Why don't you put on a show for me?"
Marty says it more like a command, with heat in his voice, and Emmett feels compelled to obey. He lies back against the high thread count sheets of their bed; they're some exotic flavor of cotton, but all he cares about is that they're smooth as silk against his bare skin. He spreads his legs wide enough to give Marty a good view. Marty's got a front-row seat at the foot of the bed, reclined in his chair like he's taking in a cheap show instead of watching his lover about to masturbate for him. The casual line of Marty's pose relaxes Emmett, takes off the pressure to perform a certain way. He presses himself further into the sheets, wriggling against them a little, and rests his hand on his belly.
Emmett's touched himself like this a million times before, even sexually, but never before did he have such a rapt audience. Warmth pools low in his belly, and he can feel excitement tingle through him head to toe. He pets himself, dragging his fingers through the reddish brown curls at the base of his cock and savoring the varying textures of the skin and hair there. There's no hurry; the goal is to entice, and he won't accomplish that if he jerks himself off straight away. That's why when he feels his prick begin to swell, he changes direction.
His right hand is by his head clutching the pillow, so he trails his left hand up towards his chest. He caresses the pale column of his neck, then slides his knuckles against his sternum like Marty would if he were doing this to him. He moves on to his nipples next, already tight and sensitive. Circling the right one with a slow, steady finger feels good, and he squeezes the flesh around it for his sake as much as Marty's. The left one is more sensitive, though, and just a light, almost accidental brush against it has Emmett squirming in pleasure. A muffled moan reminds him of Marty's presence, reminds him that he's supposed to be on display.
So, Emmett turns his head to the side, lets his eyes flutter shut. Tugging gently on his nipple and rubbing the tip sends thrills of sensation throughout his body, and he rocks his hips in time to the movement of his hand, his lust ratcheting up with each passing moment. He cracks his eyes open just enough to watch Marty, whose eyes are glued on him. Marty sits up straighter in his seat, stroking himself through his underwear like he's on autopilot.
Emmett bypasses his cock, now swollen and leaking against his lower abdomen, and heads straight for his thighs. They're about as pale as the rest of him, but they're sensitive, and he rakes his nails down the inside of one. He groans low in the back of his throat, surprised at the sensation. Remembering his captive audience again, he bends his legs up and plants both feet firmly on the bed to give Marty an even better view. He wriggles around some more to get comfortable, then brings both hands down to play between his legs. He brushes his knuckles firmly against his inner thighs, then presses his thumbs hard into the crease where they join with his hips and slides them from the front all the way to his ass. He goes back and forth like this a few times, painfully aware of the intense pulsing in his cock. When he sees Marty reach down in his own underwear to pull himself out, Emmett knows it's time for the main event.
The first touch of his fingertips to the underside of his cock is electrifying. It's good, so good that it takes a good chunk of his self control not to just finish himself off. Instead, he pulls a leisurely stroke from base to tip, pulling the foreskin over and a little past the end. He eases it back down, aided by the precum slicking up the head. He slides his foreskin back and forth, each time using a different technique, sometimes using a long, smooth stroke, other times using shorter, quicker ones. The head of his cock is so engorged as to nearly be purple and he nearly can't stand to touch it. Emmett can only spend a few moments rubbing it, lest his little show end early. Meanwhile, his other hand is busy squeezing and tugging on his scrotum, rolling his testes around in their sac.
One look at Marty tells him the boy's at the end of his rope: one hand's gripping his thigh, the other's stroking his dick at a steady pace. His eyes practically glow in the low light of their bedroom. That's fine by Emmett, since he's close too.
Emmett's finale is simple, just stroking his thick cock in sync with Marty, one-handed, while the other hand keeps tension on his scrotum. After a quick check to make sure Marty's eyes are still on him, he focuses on himself again. The sight of his hand working his thick shaft, the foreskin sheathing and unsheathing the hand over and over again, is erotic beyond words. His prick feels hot enough to scald, and the skin's tight as a drum. His pulse pounds insistently along the underside of his cock as he works to get himself off.
His orgasm hits him like lightning, has him arching and writhing against the sheets like he's possessed. One hand's clenched in the sheets, and he bites his lip, whining softly while his cock throbs mercilessly. He comes like a damn fire hose, one squirt of spunk landing up as far as his chin. Emmett comes down from his high to the lewd sound of Marty loudly finishing, and it's far better than any applause he could've gotten.