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Phineas Thatch is bored out of his fucking mind.

It’s been a few days since the Loxlee Gala and he’s had nothing to do. No missions, no training, no reason to leave his shitty barren apartment for anything, and he’s just about ready to crawl out of his own damn skin.

Let’s take a quick stock of Phineas’ life, shall we?

Friends: Few, if any. Sure, he gets along well enough with his fellow Company members, but they’re not friends. They don’t hang out. He’s not really one of them.

He would tell you that Jonas Spahr is his best friend but, oof. That relationship is way more complicated.

Jonas isn’t his friend so much as his mentor slash boss slash… saviour?

We told you it was complicated.

Still, he’s the only person Phineas would call a friend, and who are we to begrudge him that?

His dating life is, somehow, even worse. Neither his armour nor his title are shiny enough to distract from the caenum around his neck. He hasn’t been on a date in, well, ever, actually, he’s never been on a date, who are we kidding.

Ah well, at least he’s got his hobbies to keep him busy.

Does he?

I mean, he’s got a weight rack in here and uhh… huh, that’s it, isn’t it?

Yeah, Phineas isn’t the kind of guy who “goes out” or “does things”. He can’t be out adding expenses to his account if he’s ever going to break even.

Besides, he needs to be here. He needs to be ready.

In case Jonas needs him.

The point is, Phineas doesn’t have a lot going on in his life aside from his job, so when the job is slow, he gets restless. Even he can only spend so many hours a day lifting weights.

And so, after a few days of nothing but pacing, staring at the walls, working out, waiting, he is extremely bored and desperately lonely and as a last-ditch effort to fill the time, he turns to that age-old, tried-and-true pastime: masturbation.

He gets undressed and lays down on the bed, running his hands over his body. Imagining someone else’s hands caressing his abs.

Imagining someone else’s abs underneath his hands.

He lets the anticipation build for a moment before wrapping one hand around his cock and starting to stroke himself.
He closes his eyes and tries to conjure appropriately titillating images to fuel his pleasure:

The alluring smiles of the Miravette twins;

The broad shoulders of one the Company members, glistening as he emerged from the showers;

The curve of a breast on the cover of a dirty magazine he glimpsed once;

Long hair flowing past a winning smile, steely gaze–


No, he will not think of that.

He clears his mind, focusing only on the motion of his hand, the pace of which has increased. He reaches with his other hand to cup his balls, moaning softly as he caresses them.

That’s better. He’ll just focus on this. He definitely won’t think about shiny gold armour, about all the times he’s helped Jonas out of it, about what might happen if he kept going, peeling off layers of clothing to reveal—

No, dammit, he can’t go there.

This particular fantasy is so shameful to Phineas that he can only assume some notary in the depths of the vault must be adding caenum to his account just for thinking it.

Jonas has already done so much for him, Phineas has no right to want more.

But he does.

He tries to turn his thoughts away again, but he’s too far gone. His grip has tightened, he’s found a rhythm, his hand is moving slickly over his dick and he gives in. He imagines Jonas’ hands–hands that Phineas knows intimately, hands that have clapped him on the back, draped casually around his shoulder, hands that once extended to lift him up–but now he imagines them wrapped around his cock and pumping him. He imagines Jonas’ mouth, not sporting his usual charming smile, but sucking Phineas off, Jonas’ tongue swirling around his head, Jonas’ eyes meeting his not as a commander but as a lover, Jonas saying “Come on, Phin, cum for me,” and oh, fuck.

Phineas orgasms, spasming, a single whimpered word escaping his lips:


He lays there for a few minutes, blissed out, riding the waves of pleasure. As he comes down from the high and starts to get himself cleaned up, he tells himself that he can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep indulging in these fantasies.

That was the last time.

Yes, that was definitely the last time.