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In My Own Hands

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Carey jumped to his left, kicking her feet out as she dove away from him. In a flash so fast he couldn’t keep up, she jumped to her feet, twisted, and had her knife at his throat.

“We’ve been over this, Burnsides. If you fight on reaction alone, you’ll always lose. You have to anticipate your opponent’s next move.”

“Ah, shit. I’m trying, Carey. Can we go again?”

She laughed and dropped her knife. As she walked back around to face him, she said, “That’d be the 23rd time today, right?” He laughed, a little sheepish. “Right. Let’s call it a day.” Carey tossed a towel at Magnus’s face. He catches it. “Go home. Wash up, then let’s get some grub. Meet you in the cafeteria in 30?”

Training like this had become a daily ritual for them. Magnus wiped the sweat off his face and grinned at her. “Sounds good. Meet you there!” He waved over his head as he walked out of the gym, still towelling off the sweat on his skin. His heart was still pounding, so he used his residual energy to jog back to the dorm. It’s a nice way to come down from the high intensity workout to which he’d dedicated his morning.

He tossed his sweat towel into the laundry basket he kept beside the door as he jogged past it. He slowed down a little as he trotted into the bathroom; thankfully, it was still too early to be in use by either Merle or Taako. He finally came to a stop, closing the door behind him and locking it. You can never be too secure when it comes to privacy in a shared dorm.

Magnus’s mind is still on the training. He tries to analyze Carey’s fighting style to anticipate how she will attack him next, but the woman was an expert. She switched things up on him regularly, kept him sharp. It’s what made her such a good partner.

His mind is distracted. He goes through the motions of undressing and turning on the water, waits for it to get hot. He slowly rolls his shoulders to work out some knots.

When he finally steps under the hot spray of water, his mind clears and he’s back to himself just like that. He’s present with himself for the first time since training, and he quickly notices something.

He’s rock hard.

And judging by the purpling head, he’d been that way for a while.

Even though he was alone in the shower, he blushed. It was so common for him, and yet he never seemed to remember until moments like this, long after the fact. It wasn’t like Magnus was disinterested in his dick altogether, no, he just tended to focus more on what was happening in front of him rather than within him.
Without a distraction here, though, Magnus was forced to make a decision. He could turn the water to cold, wash off quick and efficient and head off to lunch dissatisfied. Or he could tend to his issues now in the hopes they wouldn’t resurface later.

The first time this happened led to a very awkward conversation in which Carey explained that she was a lesbian and thus, not interested in Magnus that way. And then Magnus had to explain that he also wasn’t interested; his body just reacted like this to adrenaline.

With the warm water cascading down his shoulders, Magnus made his decision. Without a second thought, he wrapped his thick fingers around the girthy base of his cock. Just this light tough alone was enough to send a wave of fire up his spine and deep into the pit of his stomach.

He let his eyes slip closed and sorted through his memories for something to think of while he did this. His fist lazily stroked him as he deliberated. Finally, Magnus decided he would feel least guilty if he kept his thoughts as general and non-specific as possible.

So he leaned back against the now-warmed rocks lining the shower and thought of a mouth around him instead of his own hand. The warm water helped with this image, surrounding his cock with a wet heat. He groaned lowly and pushed his hips forward into the imaginary mouth. His free hand dips into the space in front of him as if it were searching for a head to land on.

He fucks his fist slowly, imagining his hand tangled in a mess of blonde hair. As the mouth pushes forward, he imagines seeing the tips of pointed ears before he cuts the thought off entirely.

Better to not go there.

Instead his thoughts moved to a figure spread out on a bed for him, ass pushed into the air. He started stroking himself faster as he pictured himself climbing up that body, gripping the hips, and burying his cock inside. Magnus moaned too loud as his hips stuttered into his fist, caught up in the fantasy.

Fantasy Magnus started thrusting roughly. He reached up to grab a fist full of hair, long and blonde and braided.

He was too far gone to care when he imagined pointed ears on the sides of this imaginary person’s head. It could have been anyone.

Magnus groaned, feeling another hot wave of fiery tingles in his gut as he fucked his fist. He wanted that body, wanted something warm to bury himself into. His vision changed again and he was still thrusting into the body, except this time it was on its back, facing him. Magnus’s eyes were first drawn to the spot where his cock was thrusting in. He got some sense of morbid satisfaction with the way the hole around him stretched and contracted with each thrust. He brought his gaze to the cock bouncing between the figure’s legs, long and narrow and a deep, dark red.

His fantasy dissolved for a moment. He didn’t usually imagine men in his fantasies. But at this point, he was way too far gone to care. His skin was tingling with each splash of hot water that hit it.

Back in his mind, the figure’s (the man’s) legs wrapped around Magnus’s waist. A foot pressed on his back, encouraging him closer. He was distracted for a moment by the color of the legs. They were smooth and pale, until he stopped thinking so hard and then he’d notice they were blue. The same blue as --

He groaned into his fist, brought to his mouth in an effort to keep quiet. Trying to ignore the color of the skin, Magnus trailed his mind’s eye up the length of the man’s torso, watching his stomach clench and release with each thrust of Magnus’s hips. He was smaller than Magnus, making it easy to grip his thin hips and bring him down hard on Magnus’s dick.

He was close. His hips were lifting off the stone wall now, bucking into his fist with a new desperation. His head was tossed back, dripping hot water down his body.

Fantasy hands grabbed his hair, brought him down into a kiss. Magnus growled (both in his fantasy and real life) as he bit his lover’s lip, shoved his tongue into his mouth. And the elf moaned, raking his nails down Magnus’s back.

And when the imaginary man demanded for Magnus to come, he couldn’t even hope to disobey, his body throwing him over the edge. His hips bucked wildly into his fist, his cock pulsing as rope after rope of come ejected itself from within him. The fantasy dissolved with his earth-shattering orgasm.

Magnus sagged against the wall for a few moments, trying to catch his breath.

He quickly finished his shower and towelled off. His stomach was growling now, and he was late. He got dressed and rushed off to the cafeteria before he could think too much about how he recognized the accent his fantasy partner had had, and he’d only heard from one other person.

Better to not go there.