Chapter Text
Michael was kneeling on the hardwood floor of his bedroom. His pants were open, and his underwear was pulled down just enough to take his growing erection into his hand.
A photo he had taken of you was lying on the floor between his knees.
It was a photo Michael had taken when you were ordering a drink at Sparky’s. He had taken it from outside the diner, crouching behind a nearby bush in the dark, so he wouldn’t be caught.
Michael developed this and other photos he had taken of you as quickly as possible afterwards. Some of them didn’t come out well, but the one he had on the floor was the best one he had taken recently. He would find a chance to take more, and even better ones.
Most of your backside could be seen on the photo, but your head was turned to the side, and your upper body was halfway turned to that same side, all facing in the direction of his camera. It was the most perfect angle to capture so many details of you in one shot. Although, he would have preferred if your face was looking straight-ahead, but he didn’t get a chance to try again. Not yet, at least.
Nonetheless, Michael could make out the curve of your lips, and he knew what they looked like from the front. His mind could do the rest. And it did.
Spitting into his hand, Michael spread it over his cock’s head and down to the base, lessening some of the friction from his palm as he rubbed himself to full hardness. He imagined those lips of yours wrapped around his cock, suckling on the tip, while in reality his hand was squeezing around it periodically, mimicking what he imagined it to feel like if it was your mouth instead. It elicited a small whining sound from him. He was so sensitive.
With his other hand, Michael stroked over his stomach, up to his chest, his shirt riding up with it. He was brushing his fingers over his nipples and letting out a shuddering breath that turned into a moan. He twisted his left nipple while tightening his right hand around the head of his cock, imagining that it was your hands and mouth on him, desperately wanting it to be true.
All the while, he was staring at this photo of you, as though he could will your presence in his room and on his body into existence if he just looked hard and long enough. You probably didn’t even know he existed; and even if you did, you wouldn’t be interested in him, he was sure of it.
That was why he continued to admire you from afar instead of asking you out. That was why he fantasised with photos he had secretly taken of you instead of trying to make it a reality. He’s been around long enough to know that he never had a chance with you or anyone else. He’s been called a freak and a creep often enough to know that he would always be that to others, no matter how hard he tried to better himself. It just wasn’t for him.
Pumping his cock faster, Michael’s breathing picked up in pace and heaviness with it. He was close already. He could feel the tightness in his thighs and abdomen, the heat coursing throughout his body, the sweat beading on his brow, his clothes clinging to him and feeling too tight and too warm.
He wished that he could have you, that he could be the person you would want to be with, that he could stop hiding in the shadows to be close to you, that he could just be normal.
In his mind, he pictured your smile that was never directed at him in reality. But in his fantasies, he was the reason for your smile, your laugh, your excitement, your every emotion. In his mind, he was everything to you, just like you were everything to him in reality.
Continuing to stare at the photo of you, scanning his eyes over your entire body—studying it—before focusing on your lips again, Michael’s hand on his cock became quicker, twisting around the head tightly each time he reached it, doing the same to his nipples, stroking over them and twisting them. He was panting, the sweat on his brow started dripping, his body felt hotter with every second that passed.
Pathetic-sounding moans escaped his lips. He bit his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, as though that would stop the sounds from coming; but they continued. He whined. He opened his mouth, moaned, panted, while continuing to imagine your lips, tongue, and hands on him in place of his own hands, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.
Picking up the pace once more, despite his muscles screaming at him to slow down, Michael came.
He bent over with the force of his orgasm, squeezing his eyes shut. His body convulsed, trembling and twitching as his muscles contracted and released. He could barely breathe, whining and moaning brokenly. Milky ropes of his hot, sticky cum shot out of his cock and landed on the photograph of you, painting it with his release.
When he started to calm down, he slowly blinked his eyes open to look at the photo again. A wave of embarrassment washed over him at the sight of the mess he’s made; but alongside it bubbled up a strange satisfaction. It was like he’s marked you as his with this. You would never know it, of course, but the thought alone thrilled him.
Michael considered letting his cum dry on the photograph and hiding it in his bedside drawer for future masturbation sessions. Perhaps he would even add more photos to the collection, all for this purpose. His cock twitched at the mere notion of it. He could get rid of them at any time, after all.
Until then, he had some work to do, though.